


The Art of War

by Davechicken



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Mathesons decide to stop the power going off? What happens if everything stays the same? How long can the power stay on, when someone wants it off so very badly?</p><p>Powered-AU for swietlik, who is far too good at giving me ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laying Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swietlik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swietlik/gifts).



_September 2009_

The slow creep of light through the curtains tracks slowly over his face. For a little while, he can ignore it. Can pretend he doesn't hear the noises of someone pretending to be asleep. Someone close by. Close enough that every breath in or out moves his body. But eventually the line slides closer and closer, and the breathing in and out has the beam of light flickering over his closed eyelids. It hurts. It hurts like hell and makes the back of his brain sort of explode and sting. He tries jamming his eyes tighter shut, but that does fuck all to help and - in fact - makes the headache worse.

Miles groans and pulls a heavy arm up to fling it over his eyes. Desperate to hold onto the last, fading threads of sleep.

"Miles?"

Oh. Great. "Hngh," he answers. It is about as intelligent an answer as he can muster.

"How long are you gonna pretend to still be asleep?"

Miles scowls into his arm. "Not pretending, Bass. Go away."

That gets him a pillow into the arm, which shocks him enough to make him sit bolt-upright and glower. Completely ready to retaliate until his body catches up with the movement, and the world carries on spinning around his head and in his stomach. "Oh... shit."

"Don't puke on me!" Bass squawks, backing rapidly away.

Miles puts a hand over his mouth and tries to breathe slowly through his nose until the wave of nausea passes. Eventually it subsides enough that he is fairly sure he isn't about to do a technicolour yawn, but unfortunately now he is sitting upright there was no way in hell he is lying back down any time soon.

"How much... shit. How much did we drink?" Miles asks, running a tongue over his teeth and trying to remember. And worrying at just how little he can remember. That's becoming more frequent, recently.

"I think the answer to that has to be... 'yes'," Bass replies. The man is still lying down in the very narrow space between Miles and the wall. 

Apparently during all the drinking, one or both of them had decided that they should just stay in his room. Which might explain why his back hurts like hell, along with everything else.

"Remind me not to."

"I always do," Bass chirps at him.

Miles turns on the bed and let his legs drop over the edge. His pants are unfastened, and so is his shirt. Well. He probably decided to get undressed and forgot to finish or something. He puts his feet to the floor and lets the cold leach the heat from his soles. Maybe he could just lie on the floor and do the same with the horrible, muggy feeling in his head?

Behind him, he can hear and feel Bass moving to fill the space he vacated. The man is always doing that. Always filling any gap. Hands on his knees, Miles counts to ten, swearing he will get up at ten. Okay. Twenty. Okay... thirty.

"You... want me to get you some water or something?" Bass asks. 

"No," Miles croaks. "I want a shotgun."

"I have a sidearm," Bass offers. "But I think the water might make you feel better. And - you know - less dead."

"I am already dead, Bass. This is hell. They finally gave me the seat they saved." He runs his fingers through his hair and then over his face. Everything feels sweaty and sticky and horrible. Like the grease is a layer painted over every inch of skin. 

"Right." And Miles knows something's up, because Bass was using that tone he had. That one that said 'I am really pissed off, but am pretending I am not, and will get annoyed with you if you ask me what's up, and will get even more annoyed with you if you say I'm acting like a bitch on the rag'.

"Fuck, Bass. Not today. Not when I feel like this."

"Not what?" Now the hackles are well and truly up. "What the fuck, Miles?"

"Just... not right now." Not wanting to prolong the not-spoken fight, Miles finally gives in and pushes himself up and onto his feet. He sways just for a moment - hand out for balance - then staggers off to get a shower.

He can work out what is bugging Bass after that. And breakfast.

***

Bass acts weird for the whole rest of the day. He gives Miles strange looks when he comes back from the shower, until Miles scowls at him and pointed out it _is_ his room and it was nothing Bass hadn't seen before.

He gives him strange not-looks over breakfast. Where his eyes are all over his plate and his hands are all over his glass of not-very-nice orange juice. 

It's like he's on the verge of saying something all day, but he just doesn't ever say it. It's there in the corners of his eyes. In the tight press of his lips. Miles doesn't know how to make him say it, and the longer it drags on, the less he thinks he wants to hear it.

By the evening, Miles just can't take it any more. His head is still pounding from all the alcohol and lack of sleep, and Bass just will not tell him what his problem is. Instead he gets defensive and expects Miles to somehow magically understand what is up. Miles makes his excuses and goes back to his room, ignoring the way Bass looked like he'd just kicked his goddamn puppy. He needs a break. Needs a break and probably about twelve hours of sleep.

For some reason, as he closes the door behind him, he decides to check his phone. He normally forgets to check it for days on end, unless it makes a noise at him. And sure enough, there were missed calls littering the screen.

_Ben  
09/09/2009 06:12 PM_

_-_

_Ben  
09/09/2009 07:45 PM_

_-_

_Ben  
09/09/2009 09:58 PM_

Evidently his brother had tried to call him several times. And from the little blinking message sign thing, he'd left voicemails too.

Miles presses the button to call him, foot tapping impatiently as he listens to the metallic burr.

_"Miles?"_

"Hey," Miles replies. "You called? 'Sup?"

_"Oh... nothing. It's okay. It's nothing."_

Not another fucking 'nothing'. Miles grits his teeth. Hard. "You called three times, bro. What's up?"

There is a pause. _"Did you check your voicemails?"_

"No. I called you. To talk. Like you tried to call me." 

Another pause. _"Just delete the messages. Or leave them, they will expire."_ Ben knew how technical Miles was. _"It's okay. Really."_

"No... no it's not. Ben. You tell me what the hell is up, or I swear to god I will steal a Black Hawk and I will fly it over your house and threaten to shoot up your porch until you come out and tell me what the hell is going on."

He could hear his brother blanching over the line. _"It's the baby. Miles. It's our son."_

Shit. 

"Is... is it - he - okay?"

_"No,"_ Ben admits. _"We might lose him."_

"Okay. I'm coming back."

_"What?"_

"I've got days owed. I'm coming back. It's not the kind of shit you need to deal with on your own. Just get some pillows for the couch for me. I'll be there as soon as I square it with my CO."

_"But you can't save him,"_ Ben argues. _"You don't need to..."_

"You're my brother, Ben. And that little kicking bump is my first nephew. I'm coming. Don't tell Rachel." He presses the button to end the call, and pushes the phone back in his pocket as far as it will go.

Which is when he realises the door is ajar, and Bass is standing in the frame. Hand raised ready to knock. He must have been standing there a while, because his face is pale and worried.

"Is everything okay?" Bass asks.

"Yeah. Just. Family stuff." Miles is already trying to hurriedly pack everything. If he can square it - and he's sure he can - he thinks he can get on the road by night fall. Maybe be over in Chicago just after they all leave for work or school. Fourteen hours? He can manage that. He has to. And if he can't, he can just pull over somewhere and sleep a couple of hours and still be there in time for lunch.

"Right." Bass lowers his hand and just... stays there in the doorway. "Can I help?"

"Unless you know an amazing fertility doctor, probably not."

"...the baby?"

"Yes, Bass. The baby. So. I need to go back to Chicago and see Ben."

"Because... you know an amazing fertility doctor?"

Miles turns around, biting back some witty response. "He's my brother," he says, instead. "I have to. Fuck it, Bass. I have to."

"Okay." Bass shrugs. "You want a hand packing? You want someone to ride shotgun?"

Of course he does. Of course he wants Bass there. Because this is freaking him the hell out. It's... it's just awful. He can't think of much worse in the world than his brother losing a kid. About little Charlie losing her future brother. It makes his chest hurt and his head swim. But he also doesn't want to fall to pieces in front of Bass. 

"...no. It's okay. I'll be back as soon as I can. You... you should stay."

"Okay." Bass slings his hands into his pockets. 

Miles shoves more shirts into his overnight bag, and slides the contents of his vanity shelf in, too. 

He can hear Bass thinking. He can hear how he almost says something... but then as quietly as he came, he's gone. And Miles is left with his bag and his worries.

***

By the time Miles arrives at his brother and sister-in-law's house on the outskirts of Chicago it's well past lunch. He's slept a grand total of two hours in snatched naps, and the caffeine he's ingested is making his hands shake. He fumbles with the key in the lock, drops his pack down to the side of the door, staggers to the couch and lands face-first on it. 

He closes his eyes for just two seconds - or so it feels like - before a tugging at his sleeve makes him jump.

"Unca Miles?" 

Groggily, Miles rolls over. He peers down and sees the big blue eyes of his little niece staring back up.

"Hey, Charlie. What up?"

"You came!" she says, and in a flash of movement she's on top of him, arms around his neck as she hugs him fiercely. "You came! Presents?"

Miles laughs. "Not this time, sugar. I came in a bit of a rush. But I promise I'll take you out for ice cream if your mother says yes."

"Well, I can hardly say no now, can I?" Rachel asks. She's standing in the doorway, looking surprised to see him. Surprised and wary.

"Ice cream!" Charlie squeals. "Stwawbewwy!"

"Yep. I know it's your favourite. Okay. Hold on tight... I'm getting up..."

Trusting her to keep her arms around him, he pushes carefully up to his feet, then shuffled her into position. Automatically her legs wrapped around him and the death-choke lessened. Her squeals of delight were worth the discomfort.

"So... what brings you back?" Rachel asks, walking through into the kitchen.

Miles bounces on his toes as he follows. "Had some vacation days owed. Figured I'd come and torment my favourite niece. Maybe give you and Ben some time out." Little hands clapped over his eyes, making him laugh. "Okay, okay Charlie. Just a minute and we can play."

"Awwww..."

"He called you, didn't he?" Rachel asks. Her eyes narrowing. 

No point in denying it, Miles shrugs. "He's worried, Rache. He's really worried. You know he wouldn't call me otherwise."

"Right." Her eyes are hard, and he regrets the pain he sees there. Regrets a lot of things. 

On his back, Charlie starts to bounce. "Unca Ba-ba?"

Miles snorts. "No, Charlie. Uncle Bass isn't coming this time."

"Awww, why?"

"He had some grown-up stuff to do," Miles half-lies. "But I'm sure he'll come for Thanksgiving." His eyes slide over to Rachel, remembering a bit late to add, "...if that's okay with your mom."

"Plllllllllease!" Charlie begs, leaning over him and batting her eyelashes at her mother. 

"Sure. Fine. The more the merrier. Now will you try not to get my daughter too excitable while I cook?"

"No problemo," Miles replies. "I know just the game to play. Come on, Charlie. Let's go explore the Wild West, huh?"

"Yippe!"

***

It's later than he'd like when Miles finally gets his brother to himself. Charlie insisted on at least three bedtime stories, and used the wobbly bottom lip every time he tried to leave. God but that kid was bound to break some hearts when she grew up. Miles could tell for sure.

With no small amount of difficulty, he had encouraged Rachel to part with Ben, and with even more difficulty he'd prised his brother out of his home.

And into the car.

"I have work in the morning, Miles. I don't know how you can drop everything, but I can't."

"It's a gift," Miles droned back at him. "Now will you quit complaining and pick a bar?"

"I don't really drink, Miles. I have a two year old daughter and a pregnant wife. On top of my job. I don't really--"

"Pick. Or I will," Miles threatens. "And you know you don't approve of my taste in bars."

"Oh... fine. Whatever. The first one we see."

"Deal."

He parks the car in the lot, then pockets his keys. Waits until Ben is clear of his baby before blipping the central locking. Taking a moment to admire the sheer curves of his hot-shot red beauty. But just a moment, and then he wraps his arm around Ben's shoulder and steers him towards the alcohol.

"It will be just like old times," he promises.

"What? You getting wasted and me covering for you?"

"Yeah." His smile is nostalgic. "Just like that. Come on."

The bar is fine enough. Miles tells Ben to find somewhere comfortable and goes to order their drinks. He knows if he doesn't, then Ben will just stick to soda or something, or one of those ridiculous non-alcoholic beers. His eyes drift over the fine scotches behind the bar, but he settles for two bottles of non-descript beer. He can work his way up to the good stuff, he figures.

When he finds Ben, his brother has holed up in a booth and is toying with a beermat. His fingers worry at the fraying cardboard and Miles can see his nails are bitten down to the quick. He slides in to the other side of the booth, and pushes a bottle over the table to him.

"Thanks," Ben says, distractedly. Looking everywhere but at him.

"No problem," Miles drawls, and takes a swig. It tastes okay. Not wonderful, but not bad either. Nowhere near enough to touch him, though. He needs several to get any kind of buzz these days.

"You probably broke the land-speed record getting here," Ben goes on. "Rachel told me you were already on the couch when she got home with Charlie."

"Yeah. Well. No one pulled me over, so we're fine."

"I..." His brother gulps a large mouthful of beer down. Wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Thanks for coming."

"You need to talk to me." Miles decides the time for being polite is long since gone. "And I know I'm not the best of people in the world to do the talking thing with, but I'm your only brother so you're stuck with me."

Ben manages a wavering smile. "Is this when you tell me 'this hurts me more than it hurts you'?"

"Something like. So. Come on. I had to pull in every favour I'm owed to get here."

His brother nods slowly. He's gone from worrying the mat to worrying the label on the bottle, which is never a good sign. Not in anyone. "It's... it's his lungs," Ben says. "When... when Rachel got checked they saw he wasn't... he wasn't forming right and..."

Miles grits his teeth together hard. A rising surge of anger is welling in his chest. Impotent rage. "Do they know what it is?"

"Yeah. Sort of."

"Is it fixable?"

And now his brother's eyes go haunted. "Maybe."

"Maybe... how, Ben? You know me. I kill people for a living. I don't do all this science shit, so you gotta make it simple."

"There's... there's a trial. A study. That we thought might help. But there weren't any places on it. And..." his eyes dart around the room. "Swear you won't tell anyone, Miles. Swear."

Okay. Weird. Miles nods at him. "I swear, Ben. I won't tell a soul."

"We... we're working on something. Rachel, me, our team... we're working on something and someone big wants in. I've said yes all along, but Rachel didn't think it was a good idea. Not... not until this thing with the baby, and suddenly she does."

"Okay. Why did she think it was a bad idea?"

"The... guy is D.O.D." Ben rips the soggy paper right off the bottle and crumples it up. "And she thought... she thought it would end up being weaponised, and all I wanted was funding and the chance to work this project through to the end, and while she was arguing no I just kept saying yes, and now she's saying yes and I..."

"...you wanna say no?" Miles surmises. "Is it because you thought someone _should_ say no, and as long as you could convince them, then it would be a good idea still?"

"I don't know!" Ben looks distraught. "I don't know if I'm being petty. I don't know if I'm being stupid. I just... I get a bit of a... bad vibe now and I'm worried neither one of us is doing things for the right reason any more. Miles... I don't know!"

He reaches over the table and puts his hand on Ben's. "Calm down. Take a deep breath. You're going to have to tell me the pros and the cons. Even if I can't tell you what's right, you can work it out by talking to me, right?"

Miles doesn't know much about science, but he does know that Ben usually thinks best when he's talking aloud. So why the hell not?

"I..." His tongue slips out over his lips again, and then he downs the rest of the beer. "Let me get another drink for this."

"Sure," Miles says, and takes a long draw from his, too. "Same again?"

"Something stiffer."

Now Miles knows this is serious business. He lets Ben go over to the bar and nurses the last of his beer, too. He drags a fingernail over the label on his own bottle, and lets his mind wander.

It doesn't take Ben long. He comes back with two very, very large glasses of scotch. Of course. That makes him smile at him. "Good choice."

"Yeah. Well. We need it." Ben takes a long draw from his glass... then he sits back against the wall of the booth and stares up at the ceiling.

Miles knows to wait.

"We invented something. Something really cool. Something that will change the course of history. I don't really know how it will be used - how it _should_ be used - because we sort of found it by accident. But then along comes the D.O.D. with an offer to keep funding us if we let them use it."

"And you know they will turn it into a weapon, right?"

His brother's eyes are pained as they fix on him. "Right."

"Wasn't there some dude who said something about his work being made into bombs?"

"How can you remember there was a quote, without remembering the quote?"

Miles shrugs. "I only half listened."

"Yeah, there was a quote about that."

"So what would you use this thing for, if not for weapons?" Miles asks. "Can you sell it to anyone else?"

"Not... not without the D.O.D. buying it off them or licensing it off them anyway, probably," Ben admits.

"So your choice is..."

"Publish or be damned."

He swirls the scotch around in his glass, watching the way it stroked the clear sides and slid back down to the bottom leaving the faintest of residues behind. It was the smell, more than the taste. The smell and the burn and the heavy, nice feeling in his stomach when he drank it. 

"Will they get it even if you don't give it to them?"

Ben shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not for some years, though. But if I didn't give it to them, it would never be on my conscience."

"And you are hesitating because...?"

"Because if we don't do it, my son might not get a place on this trial... and he will die."

Fuck. That was a tough one. Miles took a healthy swig and concentrated on the fire of it. 

"I've worked the front line, Ben. Whatever they can use to kill? They will. And they'll use it on anyone. Because no one plays fair any more. So if it means less dead Americans... I'm all for it. But if it also means more dead everyone else..." A shrug. "I guess it's what you can live with."

The rest of the scotch goes down his brother's throat. "Yeah. I... I guess so. I..." Eyes tightly shut. "I don't think I can do it. Even... even for my son. I don't know if I can do it."

"Then you have your answer."

"But Rachel..."

Miles puts both hands on the table and leans forward. "She wanted to back out before you did, Ben. You talk to her about it. And I'll see if I can pull some strings or some shit about this... trial thing. Just tell me where it is."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" The laughter is hollow.

"You just leave that to me. I'm smarter than you think, Oppenheimer."

The choking noise was worth it.

***

The next day sees Miles running up a ridiculously large phone bill. When the rest of his family went out on their normal business, he perches on one of the ridiculously tall chairs at their ridiculously tall table and swung his legs back and forth as receptionist after receptionist bats him back and forth though the hospital's switchboard.

"I know," he says. "I know they're really busy. But it's really important I get a message to them."

"No... please... yes I will hold."

He grabs another handful of cereal straight from the box and tosses it in his mouth, crunching loudly in tune with the tinny music.

By the time anyone answers, he's eaten most of the box and filled out the quiz on the back. He hopes Charlie doesn't normally do them with her mom.

"Yes... yes I'm still here! Yes. I'm the lunatic who has been trying to get in touch with you all morning... yes. Yes. With the kid... No... Look, I know you're full up but what if I made a donation to the hospital? No! No it isn't bribery! It's just me trying to help you out, and you helping me out! Yes he has insurance. No... it could help you. You could refurbish a ward or something. I dunno. Buy new labcoats... Please... please will you just..."

Miles' hand grips the pen tighter and tighter. His fingers ache. 

"I'm begging you... it's my nephew... please will you just consider it. I'll give you everything I've got. No... no. Look I'm a vet. No, not a medical vet. I'm a Marine. Yeah. That. And I risk my ass every other day to save you so you're free to... no! No don't hang up, don't hang--"

The line goes dead. Miles throws the handset at the couch in frustration. The back falls off and the batteries pop out. Well. Great.

A sudden ringing catches his him off-guard. What? Oh. His cell phone. He'd forgotten about it. Again. He pulls it out and flips it open.

"Hey?"

_"Hey Miles."_

"Hey Bass. What's up?"

_"I was gonna ask the same thing. You okay?"_

No. No I'm not. "Yeah. It's... it's nice to see Charlie. She was asking after you."

_"Oh?"_

"She was devastated I didn't bring you along. So I promised her you'd see her at Thanksgiving. And then Rachel gave me that look..."

_"Well, if they'll have me, I'll drop by, of course I will."_

"Don't be an ass, Bass. Of course they will. When you're done seeing your folks, anyway."

_"Yeah. Well."_ There's that hesitation again. Miles can almost taste it. The gaps between his words. _"You.. you getting anywhere?"_

"Yeah," he lied. "I think it's going to be okay."

_"Good. Listen... I gotta go. I... okay. I'll... go."_

"Alright." Miles is confused. "Bass, is there something you wanna--?"

But the line goes dead. And Miles drops his head onto the table in frustration. No one wants to talk to him today. No one.

***

When his family gets back, Miles is sitting out on the balcony, staring out at the suburban sprawl. Row after row of apartment blocks and houses. Beds and kitchens and bathrooms all servicing the great mass of the city. The drains. That's what it's like. Drains. Cars that speed in and out. People that blur to and from offices and shops like ants carrying food backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. He feels so... strange... watching them. 

Watching the people. Knowing what they're up to. It's all the same. Eat, drink, sleep, work, fuck. Fuck around. Fuck up. All of them stuck in the patterns of normalcy. The patterns he and Bass long since left behind. Thinking of his best friend sort of hurts. Maybe he should have let him come with. Bass is the more persuasive of them, that's for sure. Maybe if he'd let Bass call the hospital he would have managed to convince them to take Rachel and the baby on. And maybe he wouldn't be calling and not-really talking to him. Something is sure as fuck wrong with Bass, and he's going to have to work that out when he goes back.

Not that he knows how. Bass is good at all that emotional crap. Miles? Miles just throws alcohol at it. Like now. It's early afternoon and he's wasted on his brother's liquor. Drunk and laughing at all the mundane people with their mundane lives. Their mundane affairs. Their nine til fives. Their white picket fences, slobbering dogs, slobbering children and cheating wives. Laughing at them because he knows better? Yeah. He does. He knows guns and dust and sand and the sweet, sweet taste of afternoon alcohol. 

And as he laughs at them to cover up the pain inside, he becomes aware that he's not alone. How, he's not sure. He just knows somehow his niece has snuck up on him and is staring at him with concern on her little, perfect face.

"Not now, Charlie. Uncle Miles needs some boring adult time. Your mom or your dad will play with you."

Charlie hesitates. She stares back into the house for a minute before something crosses her face. Bravery. That's what it is: pure and simple. Bravery. His little niece stomps up to him and drops herself between his legs. She wraps an arm around each calf and rests her head on his knee.

And Miles feels like a total dick. Here he was sending the kid away to wallow, and she doesn't even want to play. She just wants to make him feel better. He puts down the almost-empty bottle and scoops her up for a hug.

"Don't want you sad," she whispers.

"How could I be, when I have you?" he asks her.

"Mom and Dad are sad lots," she confesses. "I drew Mommy."

"Did she like it?"

Charlie shrugs. "Dunno."

"I'm sure she did. Your pictures are amazing."

"Don't be sad," Charlie begs him. "Unca Miles don't."

"Okay... okay I promise I won't." Even if it hurts to think that... her little baby brother...

"She got you good, huh?" Ben stands in the doorway, smiling fondly down at them.

"Yeah. She's a terror, huh? Aren't you?" He starts tickling her sides until she giggles and tries to wring free.

"I don't know how you did it..."

Miles stops tickling Charlie, and doesn't even register her aww of disappointment. "Did what, Ben?"

His brother looks pale, but pleased. "How you got us onto that trial. I'm not sure I _want_ to know... but thank you."

"I... huh? They said yes?"

Ben nods. "Yes. They just called. Told me they'd been persuaded to open up a last spot. Said someone had made additional funding available. Miles, I--"

He sweeps Charlie up onto his hip and stands close to Ben. "I... fu--" he remembers who he's holding. "--uh. Wow. Well. I did call them all morning. But they... I didn't think..."

Ben is hugging his free side before he can even finish what he's saying. And Ben rarely does that. Miles is even more taken aback. "Let me get Charlie fed. Then we're going out for drinks. On me."

"Okay. Great." Even if Miles doesn't know how. He's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.

***

Additional funding. Shit. It's what keeps going around and around in Miles' head. Any time there's a lull in the conversation when his brother goes to get more booze. Additional funding.

What if it's a fuck up? What if they crossed wires at the hospital, and think he's rich? What if he can't give them enough and they pull Rachel from the programme? He tries to keep a brave face on, even under the cold sweat.

"...so how is Bass?" Ben asks.

Miles realises he wasn't really listening. "Huh?"

"Bass. You didn't bring him. Is he okay?"

"Uhm. Yeah. Sure. He's fine. Why wouldn't he be?"

"I was just asking," Ben shrugs. "You're normally inseparable."

"I thought maybe you'd want to keep this... quiet," Miles half-lies. "You know. Because it's... private."

"When has that ever stopped you in the past?"

"Point." He takes a sip of the scotch. "I... I... don't know, Ben. He was acting weird before I left. And I just... well he called me before and it was like... it was like... I don't even know, Ben. He's just... weird right now."

Ben slides his glass back and forth between his hands. It makes a satisfying noise over the wood.

"When do you think... when do you think you will settle down?"

Another thing to take him by surprise. Miles narrows his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

His brother looks embarrassed. "I mean... before... we thought you were gonna marry Emma. And then that fell apart, and you've... you've never settled with anyone since then. Is there a future Mrs Matheson? I mean. In addition to Rachel? Don't... don't you want..."

Miles tilts his head to one side. "What? A wife, kids, both?" His fingers drum on the table. "Sure. I guess. If I find the right person. I just... haven't."

"I hear she's still single," Ben offers. 

So that's why he's on the subject.

"Yeah. But we made our decisions, Ben. She didn't want a soldier. And I didn't want to be anything else."

"Is... is it all you hoped it would be?"

"Sure."

"I just... thought when you were talking about the D.O.D. and people dying..."

"I'm still proud of my job, Ben. I might not invent lightbulbs, but I save lives." His tone is sharper than he intended.

"I know you do, Miles. I know you do. But I thought maybe you were ready... to come back?"

"And do what?"

"I don't know. You could go into law enforcement. Or..."

Miles laughs. "Or what? Seriously? That's all you can think of that I could do?"

"Well I don't know what they teach you other than shooting people!" Ben says defensively. "But if they teach you other stuff you could... fly choppers? Teach kids to drive? Help me out here!"

But what else could he do? The thought hits him hard. He's not exactly trained in much else. Not exactly multi-skilled. He could maybe do labour for a construction company, or bounce nightclubs, or drive trucks... but anything else? He's not sure he could do it.

"Well I'm staying where I am," he settles on for an answer. "It works for me."

"Okay. Well. That's good."

"Let's get you home. I think you've had more than your month's worth of alcohol in two nights."

"You're probably right," Ben agrees. "Okay. Let's go."

Miles pushes to his feet. "I'll meet you out there. I gotta hit the can, then I'll be right out."

"Okay. I'll call the cab."

Miles staggers into the bathroom and leans back against the door.

He wishes he knew why he felt so bad. Maybe it's just all the baby shit. Yeah. That.

***

The next day, Miles makes all the arrangements. He transfers nearly every penny from his savings accounts over to the hospital, marked with his brother's name. Then he phones the hospital and tells them as well. And then it's time to say goodbye.

"When you back?" Charlie asks, holding her teddy and looking like he's betraying her and breaking her tiny heart.

"For the holidays, kiddo. It won't be long. And I'll bring Uncle Bass."

"You better." She pouts up at him. 

He ruffles her hair and kneels down for a hug. "Come here. I need a hug to keep me going on the way back home."

Charlie relents and hugs him, and even Rachel smiles at him this once. 

"We'll see you soon," she says. She's holding Ben's hand and he's happy they seem closer again. It's right.

"Yes. But hopefully for better reasons."

"Drive carefully," Ben tells him.

"I will."

And he does.

***

"Is it all sorted?" asks Colonel Fairburn, when Miles gets back to base.

"Sir, yes Sir."

"Good. Then I'm glad you went."

"I really appreciate you giving me the leave of absence, Sir."

Fairburn waves a hand at him. "Don't mention it. We all have families. You're dismissed, Sergeant."

Miles should go. He should. 

"Has... Sergeant Monroe been... sent somewhere, Colonel?"

His C.O. looks surprised. "You didn't know?"

"No, Sir. I just came back and he wasn't here."

"Sergeant Monroe handed in his resignation while you were gone. And then I received confirmation that he could leave effective immediately."

Miles frowns. "He... left?"

"Yes, Sergeant. He left. I am surprised you didn't know. I assumed this was part of your 'personal' business, as he came to me not long after you."

"Did... did he give any reasons?"

"No. And if he did, you know I wouldn't be able to discuss them with you. Now: is there anything further?"

Miles knows he's being politely kicked out, so he shakes his head. Then snaps off a salute. "No, thank you, Sir."

"Then you may go."

So Miles does.

He goes right back to his room and grabs his phone. He scrolls through the contacts to Bass and tries to call him, but the line is dead.

Bass is gone.

And Miles doesn't know why.

He stares at the door in dull shock.

Bass.

Gone.


	2. The Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, the Monroe family drive out to see Harry Potter.

_November 2010_

Miles doesn't like being called to his C.O.'s office. Inevitably it means something bad. You never get called for anything but bad news, although maybe that's because he's never been the model Marine. He knocks at the door and stands stiffly to attention, waiting to be called in.

"Enter," says Colonel Fairburn. His voice is as neutral and calm as ever.

Miles enters and snaps off a sharp salute. Eyes on the wall above the man's head. He wonders what could have happened now.

"Sit down, Sergeant," the Colonel tells him. And Miles knows it's going to be awful. What could it be? Has there been a problem with one of the kids? He knows Danny is a sickly kid. Has he been taken to hospital?

Numb, he pulls the chair out and sits in it. Now he lets himself look at his commanding officer. Waiting is killing him.

"Look... there is no easy way to say this, Matheson. As you know, Sergeant Monroe left over a year ago."

Miles' blood runs cold. "Yes." He can barely choke the word out.

"He's listed as next-of-kin, but no one has been able to reach him."

Next-of-kin? That means...

"What happened, Sir?"

"His... his parents and his sisters. There was a DUI incident. All four of them."

"Dead?" Miles pushes the word out, his tongue heavy. Bill. Gail. Cynthia. Angela. They were like a second family to him, growing up. Bill and Gail looked after him as much as his own parents did. And Cynthia and Angela - those two sweet little girls - had been the sisters he'd never had. "All of them?" The words are like ash in his mouth.

Fairburn nods and for once he looks sympathetic. "I don't know how, but you're down as the next person after Monroe. Have you heard from him?"

Miles shakes his head. Over a year and nothing. The number he had went dead sometime after that call he made when Miles was still in Chicago, and it's never been reactivated since. No calls. No texts. No letters. No postcards. Nothing. The man just... vanished. "No. No, Sir. I haven't."

"Well... they need someone to..."

Miles' stomach flips. "Yeah. The bodies. I... I get it."

"I think there is also the matter of settling their estate. I know this is unusual, but I know how close you and Monroe were. So I'm granting you leave to sort the funeral arrangements and so on."

"Thank you, Sir." There's no question in Miles' mind that he'll do it. He can't let Bill, Gail and the girls go without some form of family. He can't.

"You can go tomorrow. No driving on this. And if you need to see the chaplain..."

"Yeah. No. I mean... thank you, Sir. But I'm not religious."

"You don't have to be religious to need some solace," Fairburn says gently. "You should see them if you need someone to talk to."

"Thanks... I... I'll think about it."

His colonel's eyes are thoughtful, and Miles hates it. Miles hates being the object of his pity. Hates seeing that sorrow. 

"May... may I be dismissed, Sir?"

"Yes," Fairburn says. "Go. I don't want to see you back until this is sorted. You can take it out of your leave."

"I appreciate it, Sir." Miles pushes up and snaps a salute off. He waits for the nod, then turns and leaves.

In the hallway, he just... stands. Maybe he should call Ben? Ben knew them too, after all. Not as well as he did, but... he'd want to be there.

For the funeral anyway. But the man has a small family. A small, struggling family since they gave up working on whatever it was they worked on. Since they resigned from their research posts and went into teaching. It would be wrong to drag him away from that, now.

Miles has no one else. No one. Not since Bass left without a word of explanation. And now Bass' family is dead and Miles can't even hold him.

Shit.

***

He sets out as early the next day as he can. It's a hard drive in the shitty piece of junk he now calls a car. When he got back to Parris Island with the tiny bit of gas money he'd kept from his savings back so long ago, he'd just assumed he could coast out being poor again until he built up enough funds to be comfortable.

Of course, he hadn't admitted it to himself, but he'd always just sort of assumed Bass would help him out. It's what they did. They helped one another with everything. School. Basic. Life. Bass was always there, and he knew he'd never drown.

But Bass hadn't been there, and Miles had realised with horror that he had no safety net left. He couldn't very well ask Ben for help, because he couldn't admit he'd given every last penny of his life savings to fund his youngest child's safety. Ben would have been honour-bound to pay him back and that wasn't the point.

And Bass had been gone. Miles had briefly considered throwing the towel in and resigning and driving anywhere he could think to find him. To find him and work out what had happened. Why he'd gone. Where he'd gone. But he'd been left with nothing to his name but his rank and his car, and he'd had to sell that and buy this horrible death trap. At least it was old enough to still have a cassette deck and so he'd been able to play his old, worn tapes, but the seat didn't push forward so if anyone wanted a ride in the back they had to go through the passenger side. The exhaust was always dubious at best, and the heating was impossible to balance. Miles spent half of his time in the car trying to get the windscreen to demist and cranking the window up and down by hand.

Mercifully it doesn't break down on the drive over to Jasper. It's only an eleven hour drive so he just stops every so often for coffee and a piss. He plays the same cassette over and over, because it's easier than trying to find one that fits his mood. The sounds just wash over him and he doesn't even register them.

It's dark when he gets there. There's no way the police will see him now, so he just goes over to the cheap motel and books in indefinitely. He's fairly sure he recognises the clerk on the reception desk, but they both just nod politely at one another and he hefts his rucksack up to the cold, dark room.

He's never had to stay here. When they lived here it wasn't like he needed a room. He had said he'd bring Emma, but they'd always found a way to sneak around their parents so it never happened. Emma. He wonders if she knows. Wonders if she's still here. Ben had said she was still single, but that was a year ago. She's probably grown up beautiful. When did he last see her? He's not sure. He thinks he might have seen her once since they left, but the more he tries to remember... the less he can.

He drops onto the bed and it creaks loudly under him. 

He doesn't even turn the TV on. He just lies back against the headboard and falls into dreamless sleep, still fully dressed.

***

Once he's identified the bodies and made the funeral arrangements, there's not much more to do. He wants them buried quickly, but he does agree to the funeral director's suggestion of putting the news in the paper and online. Not that he thinks Bass will find it, but because there's plenty of people here in Jasper who loved the Monroes. 

Which just leaves Miles with... nothing. He texts Ben instead of calling him - for once - with the details of the funeral. And his brother has enough sense to send a text back that they'll come. But that's in three days' time. 

Three days' time, and there's literally next to nothing else for him to do. The will isn't going to be read until just after the funeral, so all he has is his shitty motel room and cheap dives of bars. It's too early to get wasted and he doesn't know what else to do, so he wanders around until he finds somewhere that looks mostly respectable. It's some knock-off mini-chain affair, but it does food as well as booze and he's hungry, so it will do.

When he gets inside he orders lunch. It all looks standard fare and he's forgotten what he picked as soon as his waitress walks off. 

Bored, he pulls out a pen and starts doodling on the beermat. It's some dumb logo for some dumb beer and he draws horns on it and a little tail. Then he starts drawing a beard and moustache on the overly-buxom wench advertising it all. She's sort of cute, but it's a grainy picture and he has nothing else to do. Literally. Nothing.

When the shadow crosses over his table, he looks up. He expects to see his waitress back with the whatever-plus-fries he ordered, and is surprised to see someone he recognises.

"Emma? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Miles." 

He waves at the chair opposite him. "Why don't you sit down and talk to me? Or are you on duty?"

Her eyes go hard. "I don't work here. I came by on my lunch break to catch up with Sarah."

"I..." Shit. "I knew that. You're not wearing the..." he waves a hand to indicate her clothing.

"Not that there's anything wrong with working here. Sarah's between good jobs at the minute," Emma answers, as if she can work out what's making him feel awkward. She slides into the chair. "I have a few moments, though."

He nods gratefully at her. She's changed, there's no denying it. Her face is just as beautiful as ever. Her hair a vibrant toss of red that falls perfectly around her pale face. It makes him hurt a bit to look at her, 

"I'm in town because of what happened to Bill, Gail and the kids," he explains. "Funeral's in three days'."

"I saw," she replies. "I'll be coming."

"Good. Thanks. I mean... they deserve a good send off. They were always good parents. And those little girls..."

Fuck, but it hurts to think they're not around any more. It hurts so much. He crunches up the beermat and creases the inked-in lines of the barmaid's face in his fist. 

"Where's Bass?" Emma asks.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Miles confesses. "Have you heard from him?"

"Not in years." She shrugs. "Once you guys left that was more or less it." Then her sharp eyes narrow. "You mean... you don't know where he is, either?"

Miles laughs hollowly. "No. Not in over a year. Some reason I was listed as next-of-kin so they sent for me to do all the arrangements. Fuck knows why. He just... bailed one day."

"Yeah. He had a habit of doing that," Emma agrees.

Ouch. Miles winces. "Yeah." He lets go of the beermat. "What you doing tonight? You... got plans? Maybe you wanna meet up for coffee or something?"

"Miles... you are terrible." But she's smiling.

He shrugs. "Nah. I'm a loveable rogue."

"I'm not looking to hook up, Miles."

"I never said anything about hooking up."

She leans over and whacks his arm. "I've known you since you were a kid, Miles. When have you ever asked a woman out for coffee and wanted a latte?"

"I don't drink lattes." He threw her his sassiest smile, but he knew it was pointless even as he did. 

"Exactly. I'm sorry, Miles. I have to go. It... it was nice seeing you. If you do hear from Bass..."

"Yeah, I'll tell him you were asking after him. If I ever see him again." He shrugs. "Probably won't."

"Okay. You take care. I'll see you at the funeral." She pushes up from the chair as the waitress with the name badge of Sarah (which he hadn't even looked at when she served him before) walks over to put his food on the table.

"Emma! How lovely to see you! Is he hassling you?"

"No, no. We were just catching up. Come on, I've got to tell you what happened this morning..."

And the two women walk off leaving Miles with his depressing looking burger and wan fries.

***

The funeral is okay, as funerals go to. Mostly Miles has only been to military ones, so it's a bit weird. Weirder still because it's for four people. He doesn't go up and say anything, because he doesn't really know what to say. Ben does. Ben says a few words, and then some other people from Jasper who never left do, too.

There's a lot of kids. Cyn and Angie were both popular little girls, and there's groups of crying teenagers. Miles doesn't know any of them really well. He guesses the school will be going into a sort of meltdown, and he's glad he's not going to be there to witness it.

After the ceremony, Miles goes off for the reading of the will. It's him and Ben and no one else. Ben mostly to be a witness to it. Miles isn't really sure what to expect when he walks into the non-descript office and sits down.

So when they tell him he has everything he just sort of... stares at the ridiculously well-dressed woman across from him.

"Mr. Matheson?"

Miles blinks. He's still not convinced that's him. He's Sergeant Matheson. Mr. Matheson is his father. Or - more recently - Ben.

"We will need to sort out the tax on the estate, but we will be able to finalise the details with yourself shortly."

"I don't... why?" is all he can say.

"As you heard, the conditions of the will and testament were changed a year ago to put you as sole benefactor. This takes precedence over the sole remaining descendant, who also cannot be located."

"But..."

"I know this is a shock to you, Mr. Matheson, but it is all legally binding. The entire Monroe estate comes to you. We can arrange for you to see someone from our real estate team if you would like to sell the house on?"

He nods, then shakes his head, then nods. "I... shit."

The chair makes a horrible screeching noise when he pushes back. "Okay," he adds. "Yeah. Do it. I... I can't move into it. I'll just... I'll sort out the contents and..."

Ben puts his hand on his brother's. "I'll help, Miles. You don't have to do this alone."

Miles wonders if Bass is actually dead. Maybe Bill and Gail knew. He can't see any other explanation for this weird-ass-shit-will. 

"I think I need to go for a drink," he says. And he walks out before anyone can stop him.

***

Everything. They gave him everything. Literally. The house. The car. Just... Miles doesn't know what to make about that. Did Bass tell them to do it? Did they just decide to do it on their own? Why would they? He's not seen them since Bass left. He called a few times to check he'd not sent word but they said no every time. Did they think he was dead? Did they know?

Miles just drives around blindly in the night. He's restless and confused. Ben has gone back to Chicago and tomorrow he's going to go back to Parris Island. 

He realises, now, that he no longer has to stay. He has money again. Money enough to be comfortable if he leaves the Marines. Money enough to start a new life. He doesn't have to stay there forever.

But what would he do? He's not sure. Maybe something in law enforcement. But where? Not here. Not Jasper with its ghosts both living and dead. Maybe somewhere closer to Ben and the kids. They are growing up so fast... so very fast... and it would be nice to see more of them. Nice to... settle down. Sort of. It's not been the same without Bass. Back when he was going to sign up, he'd been pleased Bass was coming too but he wasn't going to change his mind if Bass didn't come. But he did. And they'd been inseparable. At least until... whatever. 

It's just not the same any more, without him. And Miles knows he's been drinking more. Sinking deeper into nothingness. Turning into the thing Ben worried about.

For some reason, he's driven up to the graveyard. Maybe he needs to say thank you, or something. He drives to the edge of the graveyard and parks up. Inside he knows the four graves lie waiting for the headstones. It takes longer to get those made up, he found out. But the funeral went by fine without them. He kills the lights and closes the door quietly. No one is around but he still feels he should be respectful of the dead. He walks closer with his hands in his pockets against the crisp November air.

... and there is Bass. There is Bass Monroe - sitting on the grass - staring at the graves. Miles can see that Bass is crumpled up into a tiny ball. Can see the lines of pain in his shoulders. Can see the anguish in the curve of his jaw. And he's frozen to the spot.

Frozen because Bass isn't alone. Another man - taller, it seems - with broad shoulders and closely-cut pale hair is sitting beside him. He has an arm around Bass' shoulders and is holding him in close. Their heads are bowed and they're talking, but it's too far away for Miles to make out a word.

He just... watches. The moon is down, so there's not very much light. If he doesn't move, there's every chance they won't see him. He doesn't know why he doesn't just storm over there and shake the man. Shake him and punch him for running away. For leaving him. For missing his family's fucking funeral and leaving all the arrangements to him. Leaving _everything_ to him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words just die unsaid on his tongue. Bass. He's alive. 

Then there's noise. A car approaching. Miles can hear it and so can the other two men. Bass and his partner jump to their feet. They look up and in that instant Miles' eyes lock with Bass'. Bass has been crying. His eyes are red and anguished. The look of pain intensifies, and Miles starts walking over to him. Bass shakes his head as the tall man puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him away.

"Bass!" The words suddenly coming back. "Bass, wait up!"

But the other two men suddenly break out into a run, and before Miles knows it, he's being slammed into the ground by a guy dressed in black. Instinct kicks in and he starts to fight back, but a sharp crack to his temple sends the world sliding out of focus.


	3. The Plan Of Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass receives a phone call he doesn't expect. Should he trust a stranger? What will happen if he does?

_September 2009_

Miles hasn't been gone that long, and Bass is already bored. He's done the gym. He's done the bar. He's done the Xbox, for god's sake. But it really isn't the same without Miles there to bitch about him taking time out from really killing people to fake-kill people.

He stares at his phone accusingly. He keeps hoping Miles will text him back, even though it's ridiculous. Hell. He'd even settle for a phone call. Although when he thinks about talking to him on the phone, his stomach does these horrible loop-de-loops and panic makes his hands sweat cold.

Bass isn't sure what he expected. He knows they had had... plenty to drink. Not like it was the first time. But it had been... different, somehow. Or it had felt that way at the time. They'd talked and... and...

...and then the next morning Miles couldn't have got away from him faster if you lit a rocket up his ass. 

Yeah. And then this shit with Ben. He knows it's Miles' brother and he knows it's something to do with their new (or soon to be) baby, but it's not like they didn't have time to talk, first. Or since. But nothing. Literally nothing. And Bass is starting to wonder just how much of last night was true, and how much of it was literally just the bottle talking. Miles is normally an honest (if somewhat depressive) drunk. But now Bass is not so sure. 

He's about to get up and... _do_ something, when his phone starts to vibrate. He stares at it in disbelief, wondering if Miles is somehow psychic or something. He suddenly feels guilty as shit for doubting him until he looks down and sees it's a withheld number. 

Cautiously, he presses to answer.

"Hello?"

_"Hello Sergeant Monroe."_

Okay. Some marketing company? But they have his rank? "How did you get this number?"

_"The same way I get any number I want to. The same way I know you're alone right now, because Sergeant Matheson is out of town."_

"Okay, who the fuck is this? Did Miles put you up to this?"

_"Sergeant Matheson does not know anything about me, but I know about him. I would like to discuss a business proposition with you. I will be in the place you last used your card to pay for alcohol in half an hour. I know I don't need to ask you to come alone."_

The line clicks dead. Bass stares at his phone in disbelief. What the ever-living fuck was going on? And should he go? It sounded like it could be either the most ridiculous prank ever or.. something creepy as hell. Does he dare risk it? 

Bass looks around his dead and empty room. If it's Miles' idea of a prank and a funny way to make him look a dick, then... well. Fine. At least the 'abandonment' thing was for something. Even if it is in the worst possible taste. And if it isn't... how the hell do you turn down a phone call from someone who can read your bank statements?

Fuck it. He's going to have to see what's going on. Doesn't mean he won't go prepared.

***

Bass has to wrack his brain harder than he expected to in order to work out where he last paid in plastic for drink. He figures the man on the phone meant actual bar rather than a liquor or grocery store. He should have checked his bank account details himself before he left, if for no other reason than the voice could easily have stolen all his money and is planning on stealing his identity next. 

He did have the sense to change into his civvies, but he does stow his sidearm about his person just in case. He parks in front of the bar next to a streetlight and shoves his hands into his pockets. He tries to clock the area and the people as he goes in, tries to check for faces he knows or faces that might be here to murder him in a back alley. Nothing is too obvious, but the paranoia makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Bass walks straight up to the bar and doesn't even register that it's a pretty, leggy, buxom red-head tending to the clientele until she greets him cheerily.

"You know what you want, or you still looking?" 

Oh. Yeah. He's supposed to look nonchalant. Not like he expects to be assassinated. "Coors," he says, because it's the first thing his eyes hit on. 

"Sure thing, sugar." She's not southern, but she drawls like she wants to be. Bass finds it faintly ridiculous for her to be putting on an accent. It's just some crummy bar they like to come to every now and then. Not that he remembers seeing her before.

Could it be she's in on it? Suddenly he watches her hands on the bottle to make sure she doesn't slip anything inside.

"She's clean," comes an amused voice from over his shoulder. It's low and meant for him alone because no one is sitting close enough to him to hear.

Bass' fingers slide against the gun, making sure it's ready. "I suppose you checked her out, too?" he asks. Not turning. Trying to seem cool.

"I check everyone out who might interfere with my plans," the voice admits. 

The owner of the voice slides onto the stool beside him, and Bass uses his peripheral vision to check him over as the barmaid returns and takes his money.

From what Bass can see the man is dressed in similarly casual clothes, appears to be reasonably tall, and looks perfectly normal. And like no one Bass recognises. "One for him," Bass says to the red-head, flashing her a brilliant smile at her slightly confused expression.

"Just soda for me," he says. "I've got a long drive home ahead of me."

"Sure thing. Coke okay?"

"Diet please."

"Coming right up."

Bass swivels his stool around slowly to get a better look at his new not-drinking companion. He was right, the man is tall. Broad-shouldered and solid looking, without appearing too threatening. He has a calm sort of a presence, his hair is fair and close-cropped and his eyes are a brilliant blue. From the five-o'clock shadow dusting his face he's probably telling the truth about the drive.

"So Miles didn't send you," Bass prompts, swirling his cold bottle slowly between two fingers and a thumb. 

"No. But let's get my drink and move to somewhere more private before we discuss business, shall we?"

Bass shrugs as if it means nothing to him. As if meeting with strange stalkery types in bars is just another normal day for him. "Sure. Mr..."

"Just call me Jeremy," he suggests. "At least to begin with."

"Okay Jeremy."

The waitress slides the glass and bottle over the bar-top, not wanting to interrupt them. Bass flings down another note - a generous one - and nods a thanks at her.

They stand in unison and both end up pushing forwards from their stools, winding up in a bit of a cramped space. Bass rolls his eyes. Miles knows better. He tilts his head for Jeremy to move first, then follows him to a booth at the back of the building. Bass notes that Jeremy sits so he can see the door.

"First off," Jeremy says, "you can let go of your gun. I am armed, but I have no desire or intention to use it."

Bass snorts. "You let go of yours, and I'll let go of mine."

Jeremy puts both hands on the table. He cants his head at Bass and waits for him to do the same. Shrugging, Bass obliges. 

"Now I'm going to make my proposition," he goes on. "And I don't want an answer today. I don't even need one tomorrow. I just want you to consider it."

Bass rolls his eyes. "Okay."

"I saw how you came in to the building," Jeremy tells him. "I saw how you checked everything over. I saw how you didn't trust anyone."

"Would you?" Bass asks him.

"No." There's a slight smile on his lips, but something in the man's eyes. "I wouldn't. But you did all that instinctively."

"Yeah. When you're worried about some crazy-ass-fool spying on you, self-preservation instincts kick in."

"For some people more than others." Jeremy lifts a hand and rubs it through his short-but-not-military-short hair. "I've seen your psych tests, Sergeant. I've seen your assessments. I've studied your file extensively."

"Is this where you try to recruit me for the X-Files or something?" Bass wonders why they sent someone so clearly not used to doing the recruitment patter. Maybe he's a trial run. Maybe it's all just how they train people.

The laugh he gets in response to the joke is warmer than he expected, and for a minute Bass can see something in those eyes before they shut down again. "Not quite as good as that, but close."

"You're really gonna have to start putting out, man, or I'm drinking my beer and going."

Jeremy's lips press together tightly. He looks like he's weighing something up. "Alright."

"You're the one who called _me_ , remember?"

The man nods ruefully at him. "I did. Okay. I do owe you an explanation. I'll make it as brief as possible, and then you can think about whether it's something you're interested in, or you want to run for the hills."

"Start talking, hot shot," Bass replies. "You have until I finish my beer to impress me. And not creep me out any more than you already have."

"Okay. Well. To start with, I guess I need to tell you who I work for..."

 

***

Bass isn't quite sure how he got back to the base. It was all a blur. The tale - condensed as it was - that this Jeremy guy span was quite something. Glimpses of video footage with the sound muted flashed over a tablet on the desk. A government ID badge. A story of double-cross and national security and conspiracy and danger. A story that was too detailed and too complete and too evidenced to be just a simple prank.

It could have been. It really could. Miles and he were known for trading day-from-hell pranks and almost getting themselves discharged disgracefully. But somehow... Bass knew it wasn't. Miles would not go to quite this level of detail. He just wouldn't. And for all the man had been slightly awkward when he'd been trying to convince him to listen, once he'd started his story he'd been so utterly engaged with it and involved in it and... fuck. He just spoke with the certainty of someone who knew the subject inside and out. You just didn't fake that kind of knowledge. You didn't.

He lies on his back with one arm draped over his eyes, the other tossing and catching his baseball blindly. He can get behind there being parts to the military - or the D.O.D. or whatever - doing bad shit. He can. He's not a fool and he's seen what bureaucratic interference does on the front lines. He's loyal to his corps, but maybe he needs to think bigger? 

He pushes his hand over his face and through his hair. 

If he stays, he will forever be in Miles' shadow. Same as he ever has been. Following Miles across the country. Across the world. Following him from woman to woman, too. 

Miles is like a brother to him. No. He's not. He's like more than a brother. He's... Miles. He's always been there for Bass. They've always had one another, from the day they first bloodied one another's noses and became best friends all in the space of an hour. Bass followed Miles into the army for lots of reasons, but really, deep down, there was only ever one.

He was just going to have to leave. For both their sakes.

_"Hello?"_

"Tell me what I need to do."

***

The next morning, Bass goes to see Colonel Fairburn as soon as he can. He's somewhat nervous when he gets there, the butterflies in his stomach jumping like mad. He can't quite believe he's crazy enough to do this. Crazy enough to leave everything he knows and understands on the drop of a hat. On a phonecall and a weird night in a bar. But maybe he secretly wanted to, all along. Maybe it was just that he needed that last push to take the plunge. 

"Colonel," he says, saluting smartly and trying to keep his voice level.

"Sergeant."

Bass swallows and struggles to find the words he'd rehearsed so many times whilst walking down the corridor.

"You have friends in high places, Sergeant," Fairburn says before he has a chance to gather his words properly.

"Sir?"

"I don't know whose daughter you got in the family way, Sergeant, and I am not sure I want to know. Or if it's something worse than that. But I'm under orders from on high to dismiss you honourably the minute you hand in your resignation. And I've never done that in all my years of service."

So it is true. It was all true. Jeremy really _is_ government. "I swear it was nothing bad, Sir."

"You gonna tell me?"

Bass' smile is thin-lipped. "Sorry, Sir. I can't."

Fairburn sighs in resignation. "Well, then. You can go as soon as you're packed. It's a shame to see you go. You and Matheson worked well together."

That hurts, and Bass tries not to let the sting of it show. "Yes, we did. But it's time for me to move on. It's been a pleasure serving under you, Sir."

"Well then... dismissed."

And just like that Sergeant Sebastian Monroe is a civilian once more.

***

Bass ends the call abruptly. 'I'll go'. Seriously. That's what it boils down to. 'I'll go.' 

Jeremy had told him not to contact Miles. Not to tell him what was going on. Not to put him any more at risk than he already was. Anyone could be listening, he said. Anyone at all.

But he had to. He had to hear his voice. Had to... speak to him one last time in who knows how long. And it was all there, in Miles' voice. All the stress and strain. And Bass knew right then that he was making the right choice. He ripped the SIM card out of his phone and snapped it in two, just like Jeremy had said. He shoved the defunct phone in his bag, knowing there would be trace evidence on it if anyone found it. 

The rest of his life was already packed up. Already stowed. A depressingly small amount of things, really. He put a note on the Xbox saying it should be donated to some needy new recruit, but everything else was to go.

The room looked dead again. It had been his for... long enough to feel like home. But now it was back to being an empty shell, ready for the next lot of gunpowder. 

He wants to write a note for Miles or something, but he can't in case they come looking for him. He knows he only has a short window to make good his escape. 

Bass starts zipping the bag up, trying to ignore the precious pieces of thick paper he'd rested so carefully on top. Soon photographs would be all he had of them all.


	4. Military Disposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass has a lot of potential, but Jeremy has the experience. Still, there's a lot to learn in a short space of time.

_December 2009_

Bass isn't paying attention. Jeremy is saying something, but the flutter of pigeon-wings outside the window has pulled his mind elsewhere. For a moment he thought it might even be snowing. It's not, of course. But it could do. Colorado is not that much different from Indiana. It's only a thousand miles due East, after all. He wonders if it's snowing back home for Christmas. Wonders if his little sisters will be getting the sledge out again. Wonders if they will make snow angels, or if they will think they're too old now he's not gone back to spoil them. Wonders if it will snow in Parris Island.

"Monroe..."

He closes his eyes and schools his face before he looks over to Jeremy.

"We can take a break. We've been at this for hours."

"No... no it's okay. I was just..."

"Thinking about home?" Jeremy supplies. 

Bass considers denying it, but what's the point? He nods. Just once.

"I know it's hard. Holidays are the worst. You just want to call them, or send them a gift... or something. But the best gift you can give them is by disappearing for good."

"Forever?" Bass asks. 

"Maybe."

He hadn't asked before. He'd not wanted to because he sort of knew the answer. Still. 

"I... wish I'd been able to see them one last time."

To his surprise, Jeremy reaches over and puts his hand on Bass'. "We can keep an eye on them. Look after them. They might even know it's you doing it."

"We can?"

"What's the point in having all the toys if you don't get something in return?"

"Isn't that gross misappropriation of government funds and technology?"

Bass is amused by just how wide that grin on Jeremy's face goes. 

"Oh, _definitely_ ," he purrs, before letting go of his hand and sitting back. "Come on. We're going to go for a coffee. I've been drilling you in theory for two months, now. I think it's time we put it into practice."

"Okay. You think we're ready?" 

"You're naturally paranoid and have an incredibly powerful survival instinct," Jeremy reminds him. "I picked you for a reason, remember. With your presence and my knowledge, we'll be unstoppable."

"Alright." He pushes his chair back from the table, not quite sure what he thinks of being told he's paranoid and good at not dying. Jeremy makes it sound like it's a good thing. Jeremy makes most things sound like they are a good thing.

It's going to be cold out, so Bass goes to the hat-stand (who has a hat stand? Seriously?) and takes down the long, smart navy coat Jeremy had suggested for him on one of their early shopping trips. Jeremy had picked some gloves as well, pointing out the merits of not leaving fingerprints. Bass stroked his fingers over the supple leather of them for a moment before he decided it was a good idea. Winter was the perfect time to wear gloves, after all, and they needed to break in for sure.

He knew he had to buy new clothes in order to fit in. That was part of what Jeremy was teaching him. Different outfits for all sorts of social situations. The supremely casual sports jerseys, checked shirts and denim jeans had felt a bit weird, but liberating. The stiff-necked shirts, on the other hand, had felt utterly ridiculous and he'd been miserable about it for days. 

Which - of course - meant that Jeremy had forced him to wear formalwear for the past month. Constantly. Even when cooking and eating and lounging around their spacious converted loft apartment. Now the suit and tie felt like a second skin. Just another uniform to wear, with its own little rules. He checks his cuffs as he adjusts the lie of the jacket and pulls a paler thread from the breast.

Eventually he realises that Jeremy's no longer moving. Bass looks up with a frown. "What's wrong?" he asks, immediately on alert. Adjusting his stance for balance and readiness. Hands moving to be ready.

"Nothing." Jeremy looks away and walks past him to get his own coat and scarf. Bass doesn't think it's cold enough to warrant a scarf, but Jeremy seems to have impeccable taste when it comes to nice clothes, so he figures what the hell.

Jeremy puts his own - matching - gloves on and gestures to the door. "After you."

"Only so they shoot me first," Bass replies. But he's amused anyway.

"It is why I hired you, after all."

"Oh. Great."

***

They walk side by side to the coffee shop three blocks away. Bass knows by now the number of steps it takes. He knows, too, all the places where the pedestrian traffic tends to bunch up and cause difficulties in tailing people, or perfect excuses to ditch a tail. The side-alleys that people walked past blindly that were death or salvation. The windows where the best reflected views of the street are. He knows all this because Jeremy has slowly been teaching him. And it turns out he has a knack for it.

Neither of them expect any trouble on the way down to the Starbucks, but the point is to always be ready for it. Jeremy reaches for his wallet when they get to the line in front of the counter, but Bass puts his hand on his arm to stop him.

"My turn," he insists. "You grab a seat. Your usual?"

Jeremy smiles widely. "Please. Venti."

Bass nods. He's checked every angle inside the coffee shop, and he notices Jeremy sits somewhere he can see his reflection. Good. Bass eyes the cakes as he walks up and orders two muffins. One blueberry and one chocolate. He likes both and so does Jeremy, so they can decide which they'll have in a minute. A chai tea latte for Jeremy, and a peppermint mocha for himself. He's long since given up feeling any twinge about ordering the drinks, and he figures it's inkeeping with the persona he's presenting: affluent city worker. 

He beams at the chatty barista who asks for names to put on the cups. "Sam and Dean," he tells her.

"Oh, like that show!" Then her eyes narrow and she looks critically between them. "You don't look much like the Winchesters," she says, "but you and your boyfriend are hella cute together. What a catch."

Bass just... stares at her.

"Honey, don't worry, I'm not trying to poach," the woman goes on, before she winks. "Gotta get the next order."

He smiles weakly when their alias names are called, and realises he's probably going to have to come up with new ones if that's going to be their reaction. He drops the tray down onto the table and waves at the two muffins to indicate he's flexible.

"You're going to have to learn to handle that kind of thing better," Jeremy says. 

Bass can't look him in the eye, but he suspects the man is smirking.

"I know. It just... it took me by surprise, is all."

"We're already suspicious enough with the amount of time we spend together, calling us after a very... uhm. Homoerotic fictional couple was probably not your best idea."

Bass shrugs and decides if Jeremy is going to keep talking about it, then he's going to eat the chocolate muffin. "I'll come up with some more names."

"Sorry," Jeremy says, taking the other muffin. "I didn't mean to make it uncomfortable for you. But... people are going to assume it. A lot."

"I..." Bass realises he doesn't really have anything to say to that. A few people had made jokes about him and Miles but they'd just ended up either snarking back or - on the odd occasion - brawling. But he'd been a Marine, for Christ's sake. Jokes about being gay were as common as jokes about jerking off or pissing. 

"Look. Let's just enjoy our coffees. I think we've deserved a break. And I have something to show you afterwards."

Numbly, Bass nods and peels back the waxy paper. Eating muffins is a ritual. First you have to disrobe it, then break off the top and eat the inside, then finish with the top. 

"You realise that's... disturbing, right?" Jeremy asks.

Bass realises he'd completely phased out. "What?"

"You do that every time."

"Yeah. It tastes better," Bass insists, trying to keep the crumbs on his fingers.

"Surely it tastes the same no matter how you eat it?"

With an eyeroll, Bass shakes his head. "No. Look. Try it with yours..."

***

It's Christmas. Bass lies in bed and the realisation hits him before he even opens his eyes. It's Christmas Day. And all the 'yeah, it will be fine's he's been telling himself for the past month sort of... fade down.

The loft is quiet. Jeremy is often up first, but not always. The man is just a ninja, though, and Bass can never tell until he gets up if he'll bump into him or not. After the first time he closed the fridge door in the middle of a midnight snack and the man was _right there_ , Bass became much more cautious moving around. Especially naked.

It's Christmas. His younger sisters will be pretending they're too cool to want to rush downstairs and open their presents. Presents that - for the first time since he left home - won't include one from him. His parents will hand them out one at a time. They'll squeal with delight and compare who has the best gifts... 

Bass pulls his hand up to his face and bites his fist at the sudden slam of visual memory and imagination combined. It was bad enough when he was stationed away and couldn't get back for the actual day and they had to have a second Christmas, just for him. But then he'd always had Miles around and... and... it hits his chest. Hard. 

He wonders if Miles is still on base, or if he managed to get leave. Maybe not. They were both off last year so it's pretty unlikely. Which means Miles will be kicking around alone with nothing but a bottle of whiskey for company. The urge to call them all is rising again, and it just... hurts. He tries reminding himself that he's doing this for the greater good, but it just doesn't work.

Wearily, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn't want to get up, but anything has to be better than lying and despairing up at the ceiling. He knew it was going to be difficult, but he made his decision. He just... needs to remember. Needs to remember all the reasons why.

Bass slopes into the ensuite and hits the shower into life. It's a good shower. Wonderful water pressure, and it's always the right temperature. Bass doesn't know what sacrifices Jeremy had to make to get such good plumbing, but he's grateful. He shucks off the boxers he slept in and walks into the warm, pounding water. He stays in longer than is technically necessary, grabbing a towel and rubbing himself dry when he finally thinks it's been too long.

He lets his hair dry naturally because he's not going out any time soon, so when he's done getting rid of the worst of the water, he grabs his bathrobe and flings it on. The hardwood floor is cold so he pushes his feet into a matching pair of slippers... and when he catches sight of himself in the mirror he has to laugh. Really? That's what he's come to. He ties the belt tightly and wanders out into the kitchen to find some breakfast.

"Morning," Jeremy says cheerily. He's cooking. 

Bass knew Jeremy could cook. He's done it plenty of times before. He's never cooked breakfast, however. And now he can smell the bacon and eggs, his stomach growls.

"You done enough for two?" he asks, sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar and pouring himself some orange juice from the jug. It's freshly pressed, he can tell.

"Of course. I didn't get you a present because I didn't know what to get you, so I thought this was the next best thing." 

There's pancakes too. Bass' eyes wander over all the foods that Jeremy must have got up extra early to prepare. "You know they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," he points out.

"Well it certainly is the way to yours," Jeremy teases, even as he dishes out two plates' worth, brings them both over and slides to sit opposite him. "I understand if you want the rest of the day... somewhere else. I just thought it might be nice to start it together."

The ridiculousness of it all is just so much that Bass bursts into a shrill laugh. He's living with this strange government man, with his strange government training. In a very nice loft. In a very nice part of Colorado. He's paid much more than he ever made as a Marine. He's dressed in fine clothes, robes, slippers... and he's been made breakfast. It's about as far from the life he thought he was going to lead as it's possible to get.

"Unless you're sick of me," he answers, "I think it would be nice to stay."

 

***

 

It just... sort of happens. One minute they are watching some crummy Christmas movie or other on the very, very large television. Eating popcorn. Bitching about the plot and the acting and the cheesy-but-cheery moral. It's all perfectly normal. Perfectly normal and really just plain nice. 

And then something snaps. Maybe it's because it's Christmas and he's feeling lonely. Maybe it's the eggnogs and the mulled wine. Maybe it's because he remembers the last night he got happily buzzed with someone he wanted to be around... even barring the next morning...

Suddenly the couch is small. Impossibly small. And everywhere Bass moves gravity betrays him. The more he inches away, the more the fall of the cushions pull Jeremy closer. The man's thigh pressed against his. Their knees knocking together.

It's crazy. It's utterly, utterly crazy.

Bass is straight. He is. He likes girls. He likes girls a lot.

(Still doesn't explain that night with Miles. Still doesn't explain why the next morning hurt like the worst pain in the world. Still doesn't explain why he ran off the first opportunity he had. Ran off to Jeremy. Jeremy with his pretty clothes and his pretty home and his pretty face. Doesn't explain why Bass keeps wondering if it's all one-sided. Keeps wondering if maybe it's not normal for two spies to share a flat together and work so closely together. Keeps wondering if maybe Jeremy...)

"Well, that was fun," Jeremy says, putting his mostly-empty popcorn bowl down. "You want me to find another..."

By this point Jeremy is looking at him, and Bass realises he must look fucking demented. He flushes terribly. "Yeah," he croaks out, and tries looking anywhere but at him.

"I'll find a DVD," he says, trying to stand up from the couch even though it's a lame excuse as Jeremy seems to have an electronic copy of everything known to man.

"Sebastian," Jeremy says, and it makes him jump.

No one's used his full name in... a long time. He's always been 'Bass' or 'Monroe'. Occasionally 'Sergeant'. 

"Bass," he corrects him, pausing just short of on his feet. "You should call me Bass."

"Okay. Bass. I... like you," Jeremy admits. He looks shy when he says it, and Bass' insides do all sorts of weird things at the words and the tone. "...but I don't want you to feel... I mean... I'm sort of your employer and it might be unethical..."

"Unethical, huh." Not what Bass was hoping for. Not that he knows _what_ he was hoping for. "It's okay. I'm just a little bit wasted and lonely. It's... it's nothing."

A hand snakes out and grabs his wrist as he tries to stand again. It burns where it touches. Burns like the sun. A bolt of pure need stabs through him and he winces. 

"It's not nothing," the other man insists. His tone suddenly firm and just this side of hurting. "I don't want to ruin... ruin our friendship. Our work."

"No, but am I supposed to stay celibate?" Bass finds himself asking. "It's not like our life seems to be open to much other than one night stands."

Jeremy looks stung by that, and Bass wonders how in the hell he's said the wrong thing. The hand on his wrist lets go.

"I'm sorry," Bass says. "I'll go." 

It's all weird, now. It was weird enough to begin with. First he wasn't sure what he was thinking or feeling, but suddenly having it reflected back and denied? The confusion is just too much. The food and drink sit heavily in his stomach, and he feels suddenly far too sober.

"Please don't."

"We can just forget I said anything. I told you. I'm drunk and... it was..."

Jeremy pushes up and before Bass can register it as a threat, the man has both hands on his face. Bass' hands flail for a moment before grabbing hold of the front of Jeremy's perfect fucking shirt and holding him in close. 

Shit.

Jeremy kisses like a hungry, enthusiastic teenager, more passion than technique. It sort of makes Bass' insides knot up at that. He's kissed a lot of people over the years, but he can't remember the last time someone felt so into it. Their noses bump awkwardly as Jeremy keeps him in place. Awkward but wanting. Jeremy all over, really. His lips are soft but insistent and when his tongue drags over Bass' lips it hits like a sledgehammer. Bass moans and opens up, letting Jeremy in. That tongue teases once more and then it pushes past his lips and slides into his mouth. Fuck. Fuck. It feels good. It feels really fucking good. He tastes of popcorn and alcohol and Christmas. He tastes wonderful and Bass wonders why he waited so goddamn long to let him.

The hands on his face move. Jeremy curls his very large hand around his jaw, the thumb pressing under his chin and the fingers fanning out over his cheek like they're claiming him. The other hand moves to tangle in his curls and the slight tug just goes straight down to Bass' cock. God yes he wants this. It's not just that he's horny from lack of attention... he... wants this.

Wants him. Wants _him_. His huge hands. His broad, wonderful shoulders. His eyes that dance just this side of tragedy. The curve of his lips. He's so goddamn beautiful in a way he can't deny, and now he's finally letting himself admit it, it feels... it feels... great.

Jeremy slowly pulls his tongue back from exploring Bass' mouth, and the little wet noise that results just breaks him all over again. Jeremy nips just once at his lips - affectionately - and then they breathe one another in.

"You.. you still think this is a good idea?" 

Bass can't believe Jeremy's asking after a kiss like that. "What do you think?" he growls. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me some more."

"Yes, Sir," Jeremy jokes. The hand on his face stroking slowly... then sliding down over his throat. Bass swallows nervously as the man traces over his jugular. "Sit back." 

Bass nods and shuffles back into the couch. They turn mostly sideways and their knees bump again, but the electricity of that touch is swamped by the fingers unfastening his collar. Jeremy is kissing under his jawline and Bass drops his head back in pleasure. Tongue and lips finding his pulse and stroking it faster and faster. He decides he should do something, too, so he puts a hand up to hold the back of Jeremy's head. It's weird without long hair to grab a hold of, but somehow more intimate to be closer to his scalp. He strokes the curve of his skull down to the dip before his spine joins and is rewarded by a shiver of pleasure. He repeats the gesture for good measure.

"God yes," Jeremy murmurs against his throat.

Bass laughs. "Yeah. Oh god yeah."

Jeremy's wonderful tongue licks over his Adam's apple and it pushes all the air from his lungs. Bass' free hand goes to Jeremy's knee. He slides his hand slowly higher up Jeremy's thigh, even as the gentle nibbling and prising means Jeremy's pushing his shirt open and baring his chest. 

" _Fuck_ , but you're pretty," Jeremy says. "I could eat you all up."

"Didn't you have enough popcorn?"

"Not the same thing." Warm, careful hands sliding over his torso. 

God but they feel good. Bass is straining in his pants for more. More... everything. "Okay. Well. Feel free. I mean... yeah."

Jeremy laughs at him. "You're adorable."

"I am not!"

"You are." 

Fingers stroking over his nipples, making it hard to think. "Ohshityeahthat'snice..."

"Have you done this before?"

"Drunken Christmas groping?" Bass asks, lifting his head to look up at him.

"Not what I meant, and you know it."

Bass shrugs. "Not... really."

"I'll be gentle with you."

"So you... have?"

Jeremy shrugs. "I like guys."

"No shit." 

The cheek gets fingernails dragged over his sides and Bass cries out at the stimulation. It stings and tingles and feels weirdly great. Okay not so weird. He's always liked women using their nails, too.

"And so do you, apparently."

"Some men," Bass corrects him. 

"Me?"

"You have me writhing on a leather couch and you want to know if I like you?"

Jeremy's grin is positively wicked. He reaches down with one hand and grabs the front of Bass' trousers. His fingers curl around the thickening bulge and push it against his palm. "It's nice to be appreciated."

Bass' head drops back on the couch. "Jesusfuckyes!"

"Language!" But Jeremy is already rubbing a slow, steady hand over his crotch. Bass whines and presses up against him. It feels good but he knows it can feel so, so much better.

"Stop being a tease, Jeremy."

"I'm going to take my time unwrapping my present. After all, you only got me one."

"...Jesus..."

Bass flings an arm over his eyes and just... feels. His other hand rests on Jeremy's forearm, feeling the way the muscles and tendons flex as he rubs him off through his stupidly expensive and incredibly comfortable trousers.

"I'm going to not-get you presents in future if this is what happens," Bass points out.

"You don't even know if you're going to enjoy this," Jeremy says.

"I'm going to. Shit I'm going to. And I'm going to make you do it more often, too. Unless I suck so much you send me back to the Marines."

"If you suck enough, I won't be letting you go anywhere." Jeremy's expression turns even more lascivious as he squeezes Bass' dick through the fabric.

"SHIT. WILL YOU. PLEASE JUST. SHIT."

Clearly begging was a good idea, because Jeremy takes pity on him and starts to slowly prise his trousers open. Bass grabs the couch and digs his nails in. He wants... he wants. He's not sure what 'it' is, just that he wants it. And Jeremy is likely able to give it to him. Those deft fingers prise him out of his boxers and out through the open fly. Bass blushes because it's the first time another dude has seen him hard, and all of a sudden he's self-conscious. It should just be the same as a woman seeing it, but when the other person has one of their own you've not yet seen... well.

"Lovely," Jeremy says. "You have a really nice cock." He sounds impressed enough, but it could be a line.

Bass snorts. "I bet you say that to all the guys."

"Only the ones with nice cocks." He puts a hand on Bass' chest and pushes backwards.

For a moment, Bass considers refusing. He doesn't want to be some passive little bitch. But the truth is, he's feeling horny, but out of his depth. And Jeremy clearly knows what he's doing. So - after a moment of weighing it up - he lets Jeremy manoeuvre him to lie back on the couch. One leg drapes off the edge, the other moving up and around, so Jeremy is perched between his thighs. 

"Don't you dare think about being gentle or slow," Bass insists. He's a bit alarmed how needy and demanding, rather than forceful and commanding that sounded. 

Alright. Jeremy strokes him a few times. Root to tip. Balls to head. The man's fingers are magic, pulling helpless little thrusts from Bass' hips. He pants heavily and tries not to beg.

"Is there something you want?"

"Just... just... Jeremy! Just... make it good. I don't care. Anything. Oh god anything."

The strokes get firmer. Faster. Jeremy's hand twisting on the way down to his balls. The odd scratch. The way his other hand tickles his balls. Bass isn't going to hold out much longer, and he gasps at the rising wave of pleasure. Shit but the man knows his way around a cock. And the look on his face... the hunger... Bass is drowning in the flickers of need on Jeremy's expressive face.

"Please," he begs. "Please."

Jeremy all of a sudden vanishes between his legs and Bass cries out in shocked pleasure as the hand around his dick tightens and strokes harder at the same time as Jeremy's lips wrap around the head and suck hot, wet and dirty. Bass grabs for the back of his head and thrusts up helplessly, coming utterly apart between his partner's mouth and hand. His tongue laps and laps and rubs and then Bass just can't hold on any more. With a louder yelp and a shunt of his hips, he's coming so hard his cock is throbbing. He should have asked - or at least warned - but he's strangely gratified when he doesn't hear a retching noise from between his legs. Instead, Jeremy's mouth works his too-sensitive dick a few more times before letting it slip out. Bass shivers at the cold of the air on it, and shivers even more when Jeremy kisses it. Just once. Just on the tip.

"Fuck," Bass says. "Fuck me, but that..."

The taller man sits up between his legs. "Well, I could, but I think maybe it might be a bit much for your first time."

Oh yeah. Maybe he needs to be more careful what he says in future.

"You're talking about second times but you still haven't... had your first."

"You started it."

A laugh. "The argument, or the sex?"

"Both!"

Bass is feeling pretty mellow, now. The climax has left him feeling boneless and floaty, but he is aware he still owes Jeremy. Not that he's quite sure what the protocol is when it's two dudes. He puts a hand on Jeremy's thigh and slides it inquisitively up.

"Well. I should finish it, too, then." He's gratified to see that Jeremy shifts under his fingertips. He can see that he's straining in his own pants and his cheeks are flushed with heat.

Bass puts a hand on Jeremy's shoulder and uses it to pull himself back upright. Jeremy is taller than him anyway, but the way he's crouched down kneeling between Bass' legs makes him even taller. It's a bit weird, really. He's not used to being shorter than his bedmates.

Still The height difference isn't too great. He strokes his hand from shoulder up over his throat and wraps it around the back of his neck again, tugging carefully but firmly backwards. Jeremy obliges by tilting his head back. His hands are resting on Bass' waist. 

"You might have to give me a few lessons in tradecraft," he says, trailing languid kisses over the warm expanse of skin.

"Oh... I don't know... I think I was right. You _are_ pretty much a natural."

Bass rubs the back of his knuckles against the bulge in Jeremy's pants. It's weird, but also kind of thrilling. Kind of forbidden and exciting, like sex used to be. And it's just as easy to tell that he's into it as if it was a girl with soaking panties. Easier, even. 

"Is that why you picked me?" Nuzzling lower, biting over the strong line of his jaw.

"Oh... uh... yeah it was a deciding factor. Uh... how... ohyes _yes_ hot you are, and how -- ohgodyes! -- much I wanted to..."

Bass moves with absolute certainty, pouncing upwards and flinging the man onto his back. His mouth meets Jeremy's, kissing those wicked, lustful words back in before sucking them out to swallow them whole. Jeremy who has - apparently - had a thing for him since they met. A thing it seems Bass wholly returns. They nearly fall off the couch - even as big as it is - but just about manage to land with Jeremy flat out and Bass sprawled on top of him. Legs kick and flail until they're comfortable and no longer about to spasm or go dead, and then Bass can go back to holding the man's face still as he kisses him like there's no tomorrow.

Even through the post-orgasmic bliss, Bass can feel how his body really, really likes this. Really, really likes the hands clinging to him in desperation. He grinds his hips down against Jeremy's, not caring how much of a mess he's making of their perfect, perfect clothes. In fact, feeling all the more filthy for it. Again. Harder. He can feel Jeremy's leg shaking under him as he fights for control of his own body, and the power high from causing that just... it's incredible.

Bass pulls back from the kiss to stare down at him. Jeremy's eyes are as black as the night sky. "Tell me what you want," he asks. "Tell me. And I'll do it."

" _Anything_ ," he pleads. "Oh god, anything. Just don't stop."

Shit. Bass was hoping for something a bit more coherent and easy to follow than 'anything'. He shifts his weight slightly, so he's resting on one knee. "Even if it's just my hand?"

"There is no 'just anything' about you, Bass. Please. You don't know how much I want this."

Bass thinks maybe he does. He thinks maybe he's wanted it just as long. He nods and reaches between them to unfasten the man's trousers and slip his hand inside. Jeremy's cock is hard and ready for him, and it only takes him a moment to get over the apprehension. 

"I want to look at it," he says, as he slowly starts to work his hand over the length of it, bumping against the teeth of his fly and occasionally getting fabric in the way. "I do. But I want to look at your face more. I want to... see... how this feels."

"Ungh," is the reply, and Jeremy's head drops back. His jaw is slack, his lips swollen and parted. "Fucking amazing."

It's Bass' turn to tut. "Language," he reminds him. 

"Stop being so much of a goddamn cock-tease, then." His lips quirk up into a smile that lasts just until Bass twists hard, then holds it deathly tight as he rubs his thumb over the slit. "YES. OH. YES."

"I want to watch you come," Bass goes on. "I want to watch you lose it. I want to watch you come apart in my hands."

"I... oh... god... filthy, nasty mouth..."

He can tell he's getting close by the frantic movements of the man under him. By the way his words are blurring and his chest rising and falling faster and faster. He can tell because he can _feel_ every last echo of the way Jeremy made him feel, too.

"One of these days, I might even let you use that mouth," he offers, and chases the last waves of pleasure out of him by jerking him off as fast as he possibly can.

"Y-YESOHYESPLEASEFUCKYESCHRISTYESBASS!"

The expression on Jeremy's face as he comes is just priceless. It's all shocked wonder and bliss. And better still, Bass knows there's no way in hell he's faking any of that. He just looks like all his Christmases came at once and his eyes lock on Bass' with an expression of terrible, terrible joy. And Bass knows he's going to have to do this again. A lot. Because it just sort of melts all his insides into a puddle of goo. He lets go of Jeremy's cock and grabs his face with both hands again, kissing and kissing and kissing.

God damnit but the man has the most amazing mouth in the history of human anatomy. Bass wonders how fast you can fall in love.

Apparently, if it's someone like Jeremy, rather quickly indeed.

***


	5. Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass and Jeremy receive significant intelligence on their target and they go to meet an old 'friend' of the Matheson family.

_October 2010_

"It would be easier if you let me go into the Tower," Bass points out. "We can easily mock up enough credentials. It's not like it's breaking into the Pentagon."

"No, it's worse," Jeremy argues. "You don't want to know how much worse."

"You've got contacts."

"Yes, but there's a limit to what even I can do, Bass."

"You keep saying that, but I've yet to see it."

He and Jeremy are sitting at their breakfast bar with the largest take-out coffees money can buy. Bass is dangling one shoe off his toes and swinging it back and forth as they work on analysing their latest stolen intel. Well. Jeremy is analysing. Bass isn't so good at that side of things, and is mostly messing about on the dark net and occasionally looking at pictures of guns and formulating a shopping list based on nothing other than 'that looks cool'.

"Because if you do see it, it might well be the last thing you see. And I have plans for you which involve you not being dead, and carrying on being alive."

"That's the same thing twice," he protests.

"Exactly. I have multiple plans which involve your continued existence. So would you be kind enough to stop trying to die?"

Bass' shoe falls off his foot with a clunk. "Shit."

"Well if you will insist on--"

"No," he interrupts him. "Not that. _This_." He turns his laptop around and points to the reports.

"Oh, yeah. That looks... that looks like our guy."

"Looks like we're going to have to pay a visit to some boring science guys again."

"They are not boring, Bass. You just don't understand how a scientist's mind works."

"Yeah, I do. On numbers. It's boring. If you grew up around geeks like I had..."

Jeremy sighs. "Bass, I _am_ a geek."

"No, you're good at computers, but you have social skills and don't talk to me like I'm a caveman."

"Miles' brother?"

Bass' eyes harden. "You wouldn't think it would be possible to grow up in the shadow of someone who wasn't even your brother, but... apparently I did."

"I thought you got on well with all the Mathesons?"

He shrugs. "I did. I spent half my life in their houses. And Ben didn't _mean_ anything by it. He just... talked like that. It was irritating. And my parents used to just ask why me and Miles couldn't be more like him. You know. Settled. Smart."

"You're plenty smart enough, Bass."

"No... not book smart. You know that, it's why you recruited me. I'm a foot soldier. Infantry. Fodder. I'm no General, and I'm no Nobel Prize winner. When I die, the best thing anyone will say at my funeral is I was good with a left hook."

"That's not true."

Bass shrugs. "It kind of is. Unless I manage to do something worthwhile with you. Which no one will ever even know about... I used to think when we enlisted, we'd be doing good things, you know? I mean. You do. When you're just a stupid kid. You think the Government has some big, wonderful master plan. You think the guys in charge know what they're doing, and you're making a sacrifice for the greater good. But..." He pushes the laptop back.

"I know. I read your file. I know what happened. Well. I know what's in the reports."

"It's bullshit," Bass insists. "Half of those reports had to be lies. And you know it."

"I do know it. I've filled my own share of lying reports over the years. But now we can do something to make up for them."

"So we're going to Chicago?"

"Yes. We'll go by the end of the week." 

***

"I'm not happy with you going in alone," Bass says, as they park their non-descript hire car (a Prius, Jeremy insisted) as close to the university as they can get.

"I know, but we can't risk anyone recognising you."

"If any of them saw me, it will have been years ago, and they wouldn't have been paying me any attention because I was Ben's brother's friend."

"We can't risk it."

"I could wear a disguise."

Jeremy bursts out laughing. "Bass... fuck, this isn't Mission: Impossible or Alias, you know. Yes we could put a disguise on you, but really... they're just scientists. I'm going on a tour of the facility as part of the funding agreement they have. I'm not going to be horribly murdered. We've kept a low profile to keep our hand hidden for just this kind of situation."

"I... it's just it's my job. The going places thing. Seeing people. Being ready to shoot people and things."

"I know. I would rather you were going in, too. But you know I'm right on this." Jeremy reaches over the handbrake to rub Bass' knee. "And you'll be listening in. If anything goes wrong, you can come in all guns blazing. I promise."

"Yeah. Because I will. I don't care, I'll shoot their stupid test tubes and expensive things with coloured liquids in all to _hell_."

"Oh, don't talk dirty to me, or I'll be distracted and I'll be late for my meeting." 

That hand squeezes knowingly, and Bass shifts uncomfortably at the answering twinge in his dick. 

"Hurry back, and we can totally drive this beast somewhere private and make out like we're teenagers," Bass offers.

"You're such a romantic."

"Well, I could always just--"

Jeremy puts his fingers on Bass' lips and shakes his head. "Later."

Bass sighs and shuffles again. He nips at the fingers, then smirks when Jeremy blushes. "Fine. I'll hold your ass to it."

"That's the general idea," Jeremy laughs, opening his door and sliding out of the passenger side before Bass can grab him and persuade him into staying.

***

"The facility is certainly well equipped," Jeremy says, as he follows John Sanborn around.

"Yeah, well, we have you guys to thank for that," he replies, sounding a little bit.. embarrassed? It's hard for Jeremy to tell. "You should have seen it before."

"No one appreciates science for science's sake any more."

The think stick of a man's head snaps around to peer beadily up at him. "Not what I'd expect coming from one of you."

"Remember I'm a scientist primarily, just like you are. Just because they sign my pay check doesn't mean I don't believe in the purity of results. I just also like to eat."

 _"Careful."_ Bass' voice in his ear is low, even though he reassured him that no one else would over-hear him unless they ripped the concealed bud from Jeremy's ear. 

John smiles nervously, his face wavering between panic and hysteria. "Uhm. Yeah."

"Relax, I'm not here to trip you up. I just wanted you to know I'm a scientist, too. Not just some guy from The Man." Jeremy pats John on the shoulder. "Anyway, it was just a joke."

_"Look, I know you want to get a feel for their loyalties, Jeremy, I really do. But you're as subtle as a virgin in a whorehouse. Stick to the plan."_

Maybe it was a bad idea giving Bass the ability to speak straight into his ear. He's trying to be serious and do field work, and the guy's back to talking about sex. Maybe sexy pervy talk in public _is_ a new kink of his, but considering how important it is this goes to plan, it's something he wants to explore properly. Later.

"Yeah. Well." John wrings his hands. "Sorry. It's just we've been trying really hard to fix these stability problems like we said. We - uh - thought you were going to come next week to discuss it, and when you came early, we thought..."

"You thought I was coming to shut you down?"

John nods. He looks utterly miserable. 

"Well, I'm not here for that. And I've not come to consult on the stability. It's just they wanted to send someone to reassure you, before the main team comes next week."

"More people?" The scrawny man nearly jumps a mile. 

"More people," Jeremy repeats, wondering why John is having such a bad day today. "But we're not going to shut you down because of a few technical setbacks."

 _"I remember this dude,"_ comes Bass' voice in his ear. _"He's always like this. Maybe you were right. If I had to see him, he'd probably know it was me and I'd wind up hitting him for being a little bitch."_

Jeremy definitely has to revisit the earbud privileges. It's hard to keep such a straight face.

"Maybe you could take me to the main lab?"

"Sure. Grace has all our latest reports ready for you. Have... have you seen the demonstration?"

Oh, that sounds promising. "No, I haven't. Is the stability issue not going to stop that?"

"No, no. It works fine as it was designed. It's just the larger scale things you asked for that we're having problems with. You know. How to maintain the levels over larger areas."

"In that case, please show me. I've been interested in this project since it first came across my desk..."

***

That night - after they finally park the Prius in the hotel's lot and go back to their room - Jeremy is sitting on the bed and on his laptop before Bass has even had chance to open a beer from the mini bar.

"You think you got everything you need?" he asks, flinging himself down onto the bed beside him.

"I hope so." Jeremy is drumming his fingers over the machine's shell in the way he always does when he's thinking about too many things at once. "They have upgraded security systems, but it's not a patch on what we'd find in the Tower. Stupid, really. He's not thought that one through."

"I get the feeling this is more than just professional anger." Bass swigs at his beer. A Coors, again. He's decided that Coors is his lucky drink, even though he hasn't let Jeremy know yet.

"You'd be right."

Jeremy's fingers type faster. Bass nudges at his ass with his foot. "C'mon."

Jeremy types faster still.

"We're partners, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"You dragged me away from my friends and family, turned me into a non-person, put a gun in my hand and you still won't tell me all the reasons why?"

"I have seen Randall Flynn's work before, Bass."

"Okay."

"I saw it, and I didn't stop it."

"You going to--"

"No, I'm not going to tell you. Because it's the worst thing I ever... I should have stopped it. I don't know how, but I should have. And I didn't. I worked with him - for him - and I analyse trends and behaviour patterns and information flows all day and... I didn't stop him." 

Jeremy is staring at the laptop screen now, and Bass notes his hands are perfectly still.

"So when I found out he had this shiny new toy... this way to turn power off... when I saw he had the potential to do even _more_ harm..."

"Why don't you take this higher up the chain?" Bass moves his beer bottle to the bedside table. "Isn't there someone you can go to?"

"I tried," Jeremy admits. "But they needed more proof. They wouldn't believe me. So now I have to work out what the hell he plans to do with this new toy, and work out a way to stop him. Work out a way to neutralise it, if it gets into the wrong hands. Find a way to stop him slaughtering thousands of people."

"You really think he'd go that far?"

"I read _his_ file."

"But how are we supposed to stop him?"

"Well, the more spanners we throw in his machinery, the better. I... I'll work out the master plan when I know better what he's planning."

"Okay." Bass stretches out on the bed, and pushes his feet under Jeremy's laptop, and over his partner's legs. "This is important. I can't do much to help, so I'll just be here."

Jeremy runs a finger over his instep. "I promise I won't be at this all night. But... yes. I do need to do some of it. Why don't you pick us a car out. I think it's time we had one of our own, and I know you're good enough to get us one without being caught out now."

"Does it have to be some dumb shit hybrid?"

"I would prefer we didn't ruin the environment, but go for miles to the gallon and trunk space."

"Planning on murdering someone?"

"I don't plan _on_ it, just _for_ it."

"Colour?"

Jeremy swats at his feet. "You really aren't straight, are you?"

"When did you work that out?" Bass asks, wiggling his toes in what he hopes is a sultry manner.

"Just pick something inconspicuous. Not black or white, not yellow, and certainly not pink."

"Spoil sport." 

"And aircon. I don't care how bad for the environment that is, if the car doesn't have aircon then I'm walking."

"Leave it to me," Bass says, reaching for his laptop and his beer. He can cope with a few more hours of work before they clock off for the night. Especially considering the bed seems to be perfectly reasonable, and if they're paying for it? They better well use it.


	6. Illusion and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass hears some bad news and no matter how dangerous it is... family comes first.

_November 2010_

"I'm going," Bass says. "And you can't stop me."

"Bass!"

Bass doesn't give Jeremy the chance to stop him. He storms out of the hotel room and goes down to the parking lot. He knows Jeremy is following him. It's not like the man is being subtle. It's not like he needs to. He knows Jeremy will follow him, even if this is the stupidest thing he's done in his life.

It probably is the stupidest thing he's done in his life, and Bass knows he's done some pretty fucking dicky things over the years. But there's no way in hell he's going to spend another minute in this stupid shit hole of an excuse for a hotel when all he feels is _hurt_ and _rage_ and _guilt_ and _burnfiredeathdestroykillenditall_.

He storms over to the car and his hands shake when he tries to use the blipper to open it. He keeps pressing the lock button by mistake. Anger controlling his movements. He grits his teeth hard and fights the rising urge to throw the keys at the windscreen and yell at the car until it opens.

Jeremy stops behind him, reaching over for the keyfob. Bass growls at him and presses the unlock button. He doesn't shove Jeremy off him, but his hackles are well and truly up.

"Let me drive," Jeremy asks quietly.

"You said this was a stupid idea," Bass reminds him.

"I did. And you're going to do it anyway. So someone needs to be there to look out for you."

Bass thinks about it for a minute, but then... yes. It makes sense. At this rate he'd probably crash the car and kill yet more innocent people. And he knows he couldn't live with himself if he caused anyone the pain he's currently feeling. He opens his hand and lets the keys fall into Jeremy's hand.

"I should have been at the funeral," he says.

A warm hand on his shoulder holds on tightly. "You couldn't go."

"I should have. I'm their - I mean I was their - I mean..."

Jeremy wraps his arms around Bass' shoulders and hugs him. "You still are. You always will be. And I'm sure Miles did a good job of it."

"At least now I had a reason to help him out."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Bass shrugs. "Let's... let's just go. I want to see them. I need to say goodbye. At least one last time."

"Okay. But remember to keep your eyes open. We need to be ready to move at the slightest problem."

"Yeah."

***  
"It... I... I want to hurt him. Can we? Can we find him and hurt him?" Bass sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He's not drunk enough for this. "You can find him, right? We can... we can break his legs or... or... burn his house down... or..."

Jeremy pulls Bass in closer, and Bass is grateful. He doesn't think he could have done this alone. He would have. He would have come down here and... and... what? He's not sure. He just wants to howl in agony. His family. He never even got to say goodbye. Never even told them they should be proud. For all they knew he'd gone off on a bender and never come back, and that's the part that hurts worst of all.

"You know it wouldn't really help."

"It would make me feel better," Bass insists. "Fire. Or flood. Or a plague of... I don't know. Bees."

Bass can feel that Jeremy is struggling not to laugh at that, and it sort of helps, too. Helps that Jeremy understands him. Understands his pain.

"If I find a plague of bees, I will send it to him, I promise."

"Deadly bees."

"Deadly bees," Jeremy agrees. "Now... I think we--"

The sound of a car approaching makes them both jump and leap to their feet. Bass feels the blood drain from his face. Miles. Miles is here. No car that he can see behind him, so the man must have walked up. But Miles... he's not seen him in over a year, and the crushing pain of separation makes everything _hurt_ all over again. He shakes his head. No.

"Bass!"

No, says the voice in his head, pleading with Miles. No. Don't do this.

"Bass, wait up!"

Jeremy's hand on his shoulder pulls him away, and Bass moves as though in a daze. Everything goes slow. It's like he's in some horrible nightmare. He can hear people approaching, and survival kicks in first, making him turn and run.

No... no... He can't lose Miles too!

***  
Another slap to the face. Another. Miles' head rocks from side to side with each open-handed impact. His head still hurts like hell from the crack that laid him low, and he wonders if they realise that hitting him _more_ times in the face is probably not a good way to get anything sensible out of him.

"Would... you stop...?" he croaks. He tries opening his eyes, but whoever has kidnapped him has decided to invest in one of those really powerful anglepoise lamps. He laughs at the cliché for about two seconds before that hurts too and he stops. Maybe there's going to be a generic fan, too. And a white cat. Isn't that how these things go?

"I thought you were never going to come to," his captor complains.

"Well, I'm less likely to come to and be any use if you insist on more blunt force trauma to my skull."

"This isn't blunt force trauma, I know when to stop."

"Well, it felt like it."

Miles stirs and tries to get his bearings. He's handcuffed to a chair of some kind, but the chair is not bolted down. Around the glare of the lamp, he can see he's in some... hotel room? Okay. Not a government facility. Which is either good because it's amateurs, or bad because it's off the record. His head hurts where something smashed into it, and his face stings but not terribly. Everything else seems fine.

"I have some questions."

"I'm guessing they aren't 'Name, Rank, Serial Number'?"

"I know those."

"Oh wonderful. Means I can just sit back and enjoy the ride, then."

"How much do you know?"

"How much do I know?" Miles repeats. "You're gonna have to be a bit more discerning. I know who won the last World Series. I know how to kill you with just the chair-leg. I know the way to San Jose."

"How much do you know about Operation Patriot?"

Miles shrugs. "I don't. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"How much do you know about nanites?"

"Nan-what?" Miles frowns. "Look. You got the wrong guy. Who are you, anyway? Are you a cop? You gonna charge me with something? Or you out for money? Cos I don't have much of that. I think you have the wrong guy."

"What about your brother?" the man goes on, seemingly undeterred.

"I have one, yes. Many people do. Parents often don't stop with one, which is lucky or I'd not be here."

"What about the work he's been doing?"

"He teaches fucking algebra, you dick. Now let me see your superior or fuck off and let me ride out this headache you've caused." Miles tries to convey with his eyes precisely how pissed off and not in the mood for this shit he us. Because he isn't.

"I can see I'm going to need to be more persuasive..." the man trails, walking over to a small metal suitcase. Miles tries not to stare but he can't help it. The man reaches in and pulls out a hypodermic, starting the process of prepping a shot. Perfect. Truth serum. Or maybe something less fun. Miles tenses and takes another look around for an exit.

"PUT THAT SHIT DOWN RIGHT NOW."

Miles' head snaps to the door, where of all the people he didn't expect to see...

"Bass?"

"I wasn't going to use it," the man says, putting the needle back in the box, turning to face Bass and seemingly unsurprised by his entrance. Or his screaming.

"You don't even fucking _joke_ about something like that," Bass snarls. "Handcuff keys. Now." His hand is out and fingers snapping expectantly.

"Bass! Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on?!"

Miles rocks the chair back and forth impatiently. Bass is right there for the second time this night and he still won't talk to him?

The man gives Bass the keys, and Bass drops to one knee behind him to uncuff him. "Sorry about this, Miles. He said he was just going to ask you a few questions. I didn't..."

"I wasn't going to _use_ it," the man says defensively.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should think before you threaten people with drugs," Miles snaps. "Bass, who the fuck is this douchebag?"

Now his hands are free, Miles brings them in front of him and rubs his wrists, pushing out of the chair and backing away from the crazy people.

"Miles, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, Miles." Bass waves between the two, like it's normal to introduce someone who was interrogating you like they're your friend.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy says, offering his hand. "I should apologise. I wanted to see what you knew, and how much you'd be prepared to say."

"You could just have asked," Miles retorts, ignoring the hand. "Now what in the everliving fuck is going on?"

Bass reaches over to push Jeremy's hand down, then nods at him to take a chair. Miles reluctantly sits, because the other two do as well.

"I'm sorry we're meeting up like this," Bass starts.

"Yeah, man. I thought you were dead." He studiously ignores Jeremy, focussing only on Bass. "So did everyone when you didn't show. And your family fucking _adopted_ me in their last will and testament."

Bass has the decency to wince. "Yeah. About that. I couldn't... come... because the people who went after us at the graveyard? The ones who knocked you out? I knew there was a chance they'd be waiting for us."

"...it's possible they even staged this whole thing," the man called Jeremy interjects.

Miles has never seen Bass look so utterly destroyed as he does right then.

"You mean you think it wasn't an accident?"

He shrugs. "I have no proof either way, but it is very convenient."

"Wait," Miles pushes in. "Who in the hell are you talking about? Who are these people, and why are you convinced they killed Bass' family?"

"I'll... let you handle this one," Bass says, and Miles realises yelling about his dead parents and siblings was a little poor taste.

Jeremy stares at Bass and Miles watches with growing horror as the pair of them hold a debate with nothing but their eyebrows. Eventually, it seems Bass wins.

His kidnapper turns back to him."You are aware, I would think, that your brother and sister-in-law turned down a lucrative incentive to give their last research project over to the D.O.D., I assume?"

"I may have been."

Bass clucks at him. "Don't lie, Miles. Jeremy knows without even using a knife."

Without a knife, huh? Impressive. He should get him to teach him some of these tricks some day. Miles shrugs. Bass he trusts. This other guy? No.

"Well. There are elements in the US government who want to use your brother's work,” Jeremy continues. “I believe it's dangerous in the wrong hands. I believe it's dangerous in _any_ hands. But the ringleader is a man I have been monitoring closely for years. Every piece of intel I have on him points to him becoming increasingly disaffected and destabilised. He’s a risk to the safety of everyone in this country. Hell. Everyone around the world.”

“My brother made something that dangerous?” Miles asks. That’s really the bit he can’t get his head around. “What the hell did he make?”

“You mean he never told you?” Bass jumps in.

“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. He told me he was working on something and that was enough for me. The science would have gone over my head, and Ben was so determined not to use it that I figured he’d be embarrassed if I asked him for details.”

“He can turn electricity off,” Jeremy explains.

Miles just… stares. “So?”

“You don’t see how that’s a problem?”

“It’s just flicking switches on and off, right?” Miles knows it’s going to be more scientifically complicated than a guy in a fusebox tripping them up and down, but the principle is fundamentally the same thing, right?

“It’s… ah!” Jeremy pushes his chair back and starts to pace. “As it stands, the technology can turn off all electronic devices in a small radius. All electricity. Even batteries, not just mains.”

“How small a radius?”

“ A few feet. Say… twice the size of this room.”

Miles nods. Okay. “And this is bad because…?”

“Imagine going into a hospital’s ICU and doing it. Or… going into a nuclear submarine. Or… air traffic control at LAX. Or… the defensive security around a supermax, or a missile silo, or the Pentagon, or…”

“Right. Right. I get it. You can turn important computers off. It sounds like a pretty useful weapon to me,” Miles surmises. “You could just turn off the enemy’s command structure and take them out in the confusion.”

“Or they could do it to us,” Bass pushes in again. “Miles… weapons like this don’t end up in just one set of hands.”

“So?”

“So? You think we should let this kind of technology get out?”

“It’s been invented once. Surely it can be invented again. Isn’t it better that the US government has it?”

“At the minute the technology has limitations. Limitations your brother was working on and stopped. It was a huge breakthrough, Miles,” Jeremy goes on. “He was working as part of a team, but I really think it’s a once in a lifetime thing. I’m not a scientist myself so I’m not the expert, but… this is pretty major. And if we can keep your brother off the project then maybe we can limit the damage.”

“Isn’t it a bit late to stop it, if he made it?” Miles demands. “I mean, aren’t you shutting the door after the horse is already shooting people?”

That makes Bass choke back a laugh, and that reminder of the past hurts Miles. Bass has been gone over a year. “I think whatever we can do to help is worth it. Didn’t Ben call you because he wasn’t sure about working with the D.O.D?”

“How do you know that?” Miles asks. 

“Jeremy…” Bass shrugs. “He has incredible sources. He can find out next to anything, if it’s not been hidden. And even then he finds shit out. It’s scary.”

“It’s just trickery,” Jeremy shrugs. “All of Ben’s communications were - and are - monitored. Illegally in many cases. And the pressure Randall was putting him under was easy to find out, too.”

“So why didn’t you go to him directly? Or did you, and I’m the only one not in the loop?”

“We couldn’t make our hand too clear,” Jeremy explains. “Ben is too hot to get close to. You are a little easier, but you’re an obvious pressure point. Especially after he withdrew from Operation Patriot shortly after you visited.”

“And where does Bass come into all this?”

“I needed someone for field work..” The tall man stops pacing. “My specialty is in surveillance and interpretation. Electronic intrusion and manipulation. I needed someone outside of the system to help me. Someone with the latent skill set to complement my own.” He nods at Bass. “He fit the bill perfectly.”

“And… I didn’t?” Miles tries not to sound bitter.

“You did to a degree. But you also are a liability. Your close relationship to your brother means it’s tricky. You are easily manipulated by this, and he would be too.”

“And… Bass?”

“Bass… they would never think to use him to control Ben. You, perhaps. But I was hoping with enough adulteration of his records that the link would be less obvious over time.”

“And you went along with this?” Miles asks Bass. “You let him pull you out of your old life? Away from your friends and family? For fuck’s sake, Bass, _you were disinherited_.”

“That was my choice.” Bass’ voice is suddenly cold. “I haven’t - hadn’t - seen any of them since I left. I had to, to make sure they were safe. To make sure you were safe. And I didn’t want their shit to go to waste… so I gave it to you.”

“But you just upped and left, man! You walked out on me. Not a single word. Nothing!”

It hurts. It really hurts. Their whole life spent as best friends. As brothers. And Bass just walked out one day and didn’t say a thing. Now he’s back and claiming it was to protect him? 

“Jem…” Bass is avoiding his eyes, looking over to the third man. “Do you think we could…?”

“I’ll go get coffee,” he suggests. “Miles… what would you like?”

What would he like? Maybe the clock to go back a year and a bit ago. All this madness and craziness to go away. Maybe for his best friend back, not this shadow of a Bass in a finely tailored suit. “Something without rohypnol. Maybe some scotch.”

“I’ll get you Americano,” Jeremy suggests. “I’ve got my cell. Call me if you…”

Bass nods and then Jeremy is leaving. Leaving the two of them alone.

Miles waits until the door has shut and the sounds of his kidnapper walking off to get him _coffee_ have faded to nothing. He can almost hear Bass counting to ten.

He doesn’t make it to ten. “What the FUCK, BASS?”

Bass’ hands are up defensively. “You don’t understand…”

“Why don’t you make me? You run off with… with him? You abandon everyone who knows you? You run around trying to sabotage the US government? You were a Marine, Bass! Why are you trying to stop the development of technology that seems to be more about neutralising weapons than people? What the fuck?”

Bass’ eyes narrow. “It’s precisely because I _was_ a Marine, Miles. You saw as well as I did what the US government thinks about soldiers. About civilians. You know as well as I do. And Jeremy showed me… he showed me some scary shit, Miles.”

“And you trust him because…?”

“Because he clearly knows what he’s talking about. He can find incredible things out with his toys. Because he came to me for help, and he offered me a job. A job doing something useful and not just jumping into the line of fire, Miles. Something… worthwhile.”

“By…?”

“Protecting your family, as well as everyone else.”

“Oh, this is rich, Bass.”

That was clearly the right - or wrong - thing to say, because Bass jumps to his feet. “Who the fuck do you think paid for Danny’s treatment?”

“Oh… I don’t know… _me_?”

“You really think your savings were enough to pay for the treatment he needed? Miles, are you a fucking tool or something? Jeremy did it. It was what I took in lieu of seeing you again. So you’re welcome.”

“What? They took my money!”

“Of course they took your money! You think anyone would say no to money? No. And we needed a cover. Your offer meant we had a legitimate way to fund it in your name. So you can say thank you for me giving you all my family’s money when they _died_ , because I was just repaying your deposit on your nephew.”

Miles just… stares. Bass looks livid, and Miles… is starting to realise that maybe he doesn’t understand any of this at all.

“...why didn’t you call me?”

“I did. I…” Bass deflates, looking down at his feet. “I called. Jeremy told me not to. Said I had to put as much distance between me and my past as I could. To protect you. To give you plausible deniability. I called you before I left because I had to hear you one last time… and I knew it was true about the kid. I knew it was all true. You sounded so…” he trails off.

“And you thought… you thought you could just… walk out?”

“What choice did I have? Fighting wars I didn’t believe any more until I died? What sort of life was it for me?”

“I thought you liked being a Marine.”

“Well. No. It was just better than the alternatives. And… only tolerable because of you.”

Miles is reeling under all of this. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Miles… just let it go, man. There’s no changing the past. I did what I thought I had to. Not just for you, but for me, too.”

“And… now?”

“I don’t know. We… we weren’t supposed to be seen. We were hoping we’d slipped their radar. And now… now maybe my family is dead because of me. And it won’t take long for them to make a move on Ben, Rachel and the kids. As soon as they realise their guys are missing. There’s going to be no more hiding. We’re going to have to… do something.”

“You’re crazy, Bass. Utterly, absolutely insane. You seriously think we can just uproot Ben and Rachel? And the kids, considering one of them is sickly as shit?”

Bass just smiles. “Yes, I do. And yes, I know. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“What for?” 

"You think Jeremy’s interrogation was bad? You should be glad I came back for you.”

Why did you, Miles wonders, but refuses to say.

“Come on,” Bass says. “Let’s go. He’ll be at the car waiting. We won’t have long to get your family to safety.”

“You really think they’re in trouble?”

“Miles. They knocked you out just for being in a graveyard with us. You really think just because your brother has a wife and two kids and lives a normal life that he’s any safer than any of us?”

“And you think I’ll… what? Work with you?”

“I know you will,” Bass says. “Now trust me, and get your jacket back on. We have to pack up and get gone as of ten minutes ago.”

Miles realises if he doesn’t go with Bass now, there’s every chance he will never see him again. He can always change his mind later, if this insanity doesn’t resolve into something vaguely comprehensible.

“Fine.”

“It… it’s good to see you,” Bass adds. 

For a moment, Miles isn't sure if they're going to hug it out or something. Bass' expression is strained and lonely, and Miles just... he doesn't know what he wants. He just knows he doesn't want _this_.

"I swear to god if my family are already hurt..."

"Then move."

He can't argue with that.


	7. Engaging the Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles forms an uneasy alliance with Jeremy and Bass, and the first thing they need to do is meet the other Mathesons. The second thing they need to do... is personal.

_November 2010_

 

Miles stops still. Jeremy is sitting on the bonnet of the car waiting for them. Like some form of domesticated freak, he is holding three overly large cups of overpriced take-out coffee which Miles is sure he will hate but drink anyway. He appears to be rather domesticated when he's not brutally kidnapping and interrogating you. But it's not Jeremy that makes him grind to a halt.

"Bass..."

Beside him, Bass reaches into his pocket and withdraws the keys to their ride. "Yeah. It is. I was shopping for a ride, and I just..."

"You bought my old car?"

Bass shrugs. "I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else owning her. So I rescued her. They took okay care, I guess, but I've done a few things myself."

Miles catches the keys thrown at him with the ease of knowing when Bass will throw them. He doesn't look at him and walks straight over to his poor baby. From the outside, she looks fine. The inside, too. He opens her up and pushes into the driver's seat, ignoring the looks Jeremy seems to be giving to Bass. Instead, he strokes his hands over the narrow arch of her steering wheel, dropping one hand down to the handbrake and remembering precisely where the pedals and buttons and levers all lie. He adjusts the mirrors to just the way he likes them. It feels like just yesterday.

"I guess it's too late to call shotgun?" Jeremy asks.

"This time, yes," Bass answers, dropping into the passenger's side just like he did so many times before. "Maybe next time."

"Fair enough. I guess I deserve it." He walks to Bass' window and offers him his coffee, then Miles'. Miles just nods at the cupholder, not really wanting to drink it straight off, out of some perverted pride.

"This baby and I got history," Miles explains. "You don't just walk away from a girl like this. Not unless you have to."

"That's why I bought her," Bass says gently. "Now... we really need to go to Ben and Rachel and get them to move out."

"You really think we need to?"

"Miles... can you run the risk that we don't?"

He considers this briefly.

"Point."

"Then drive."

***

"That went better than I expected."

"Your sister-in-law gave you a black eye," Jeremy points out, from the back seat of the Dodge. "And we got thrown out of their house."

"Yeah, like I said. Better than expected. Have you ever met Rachel before?"

Beside him, Bass is trying not to laugh by pressing his fist into his mouth. Miles' own lips can't resist curling up into a smile. Rachel has always been like that. She probably always will be.

"You think they'll check into the hotel we booked for them?" Jeremy leans forwards into the gap between their seats. He's sitting in the middle anyway because none of them are short, and apparently if you stick the jolly green giant in the back, he gets cranky about the leg room.

"I think there's a very strong possibility they will. If nothing else, then due to curiosity. They're scientists, remember." Bass fiddles with the radio, setting it off at a muted buzz under their conversation. "And all that shit you could tell them about visiting the lab and seeing Sanborn and all that crap about stability and radius seemed to make sense to him."

"Of course it did." Jeremy sounds scandalised. "Because it's true, and he knows it. He knows the problems they're encountering. He knows how to fix them, too, I'm betting."

"Is it starting to make any sense to you yet, Miles?" Bass asks him.

"...not really. But I get that it's a thing, or Ben wouldn't have looked so pale when you went on about it. But... what now?"

"Now we all have to disappear. Regroup. Come up with some plan to keep us all safe, uncover Flynn's plans, stop them... save the world... you know. Normal things." Bass kicks back in his seat, arms stretched over his head lazily. "You game?"

"I'm still a Marine."

"Not if you give me ten minutes with a phone and a high-speed wi-fi connection," Jeremy counters.

"Just like that... and I'm out?"

"Worked for Bass, didn't it?"

Miles wonders quite what he's letting himself in for. But...

"Okay. Sure. Just make it honourable. I'm not going to be the first Matheson kicked out. Not considering that if I was going to be kicked out, it would have to be something pretty damn special."

"Well, it nearly was," Bass points out.

"We don't talk about that with outsiders, Bass."

"I'm sure he's read _your_ file, too." 

Miles wonders how Bass can make that sound... dirty. But he does. Really dirty. 

"I have," Jeremy admits. "And I want to know who you slept with to stay enlisted."

Miles' smirk goes a little nasty. "Actually, it was the sleeping with bit that nearly got me kicked out."

"You're going to have to tell me about that..." Jeremy says, and Miles can hear the undeniable flirtation in his voice. It checks him all of a sudden, because he's not prepared for it. 

"Buy me dinner, first," he suggests.

"Don't worry. I'll ply you with alcohol before I try to interrogate you again."

Miles is pleased when he watches Bass clobbering Jeremy in the rear-view mirror.

***

"They've checked in," Bass says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "So... they've at least considered your offer."

"Good," Jeremy answers. "Because prevention far surpasses cure. Bass, do you wanna get the rooms for the night? Use the American Express."

"Sure. You staying, Miles?"

"It's not like I have much choice."

"Okay. Meet me in the bar. If you're ordering food get something I'd like."

Bass isn't sure why Jeremy has sent him off alone until he is standing in line in front of the Receptionist and the smile on his face freezes.

Jeremy sent him off because he wanted Bass to pick how many rooms they book. Jeremy sent him off so whatever decision he came to, this moment of awkward indecision would be held in private. Heat burns up the back of his neck as he works through the thought-process. He's been sleeping with the man for almost a year, now. 'Sleeping with'. It sounds so wrong to think of it like that. But are they dating? It's not really like a normal relationship. They work together and they fuck. They live together and they fuck. They sort of missed out all the important bits of dating and went straight to the fucking. And before even the fucking, he was living under the same roof. Completely and utterly backwards.

And Bass enjoys it, oh he does. He enjoys everything they do together, and somehow it hasn't even turned weird. They know when to work and when to play. And they go out for meals together and they book hotel rooms together and Bass doesn't even notice if other people look at them funny now. It's just... normal.

But he's never told anyone. He's not had anyone _to_ tell. And what would you say, exactly? 'Hi, I'm a spy. I'm screwing this other guy. I guess that makes me gay for him.'

And he realises that he hasn't even thought of himself like that, yet. He guesses maybe he does count as gay, now. Or bi? Bi probably. He still would bang a chick, if it came to it. It's just that he doesn't need to bang a chick. He has Jeremy.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Do you have vacancies left for tonight?"

"Why, yes, we do."

"Great. Can I book two double rooms?"

***

Several bottles of beer and drams of whisky later - Miles primed with a new cell phone with their numbers already programmed in - and Jeremy goes up first, making his excuses about not having the constitution of a Marine, nodding an 'it's okay' at Bass as he went to their shared room that Bass had forgotten to tell him was shared. It's been surreal. They have so much to talk about, but bars have ears and Bass didn't think it was quite right for them to all go back to one room to talk. Not on the first night. So instead they'd drunk and spoken in half-truths and he'd watched with confusion as his oldest and best friend in the world got to slowly know his newest... and... boyfriend.

Miles doesn't like Jeremy. Bass can tell. Miles doesn't like Jeremy and it is going to be a problem. 

But right now... he has Miles back and that is the important thing. He has Miles back, and Miles is his best friend. Miles has always been his best friend. He would always be his best friend. They're standing out the back door, pretending they've gone for a smoke but really just gone for the cold night air because neither of them smokes any more. He wraps an arm around Miles' shoulders and slurs as such into his ear in an attempt to be subtle.

"I know, Bass, I know."

"But it's been so long and I wanted to call you, I wanted to call you and I couldn't, and it was like I'd cut off my own right arm..."

Miles' left arm slides around his waist and pulls him hip-to-hip. It's like they're joined. Like they're the two friends who were just one friend who were everything and it hurts. It hurts because it feels good and it's been so long and Bass buries his face in Miles' shoulder and breathes.

"...and then when I lost my... when I heard and... when..."

Miles' arm tightens. "I know, Bass. I... it hurt me, too."

"You still have your family," Bass insists. "You still have Ben and Rachel and the kids."

"And you have Jeremy."

There's some bitterness in Miles' tone, and Bass pulls back just enough to peer up at him. "Yeah."

"It's okay, Bass. I get it. I get you wanted out. I get you were never really into being a Marine. It sort of hurts that you left like you did. But I get it..."

Bass hisses and pulls away from Miles' side. "You... 'not into being a Marine'? Miles... the fuck?"

"Well why else would you fuck off to play spies with someone who is clearly not even working for the government? I mean, you've gone all sort of rogue vigilante, Bass. That's about as 'fuck you' to the Marine Corps as it's possible to go without... I dunno... burning flags and exploding tanks and choppers."

"It's not about a fuck you to the government, or the Marines, or anything, Miles. It's about stopping someone doing some bad shit. It's about stopping World War Three. It's about keeping _your family_ safe."

"You keep saying that, but if it was really about them, why didn't you put them into protective custody at the start?"

"With what power?" Bass complains. "Uproot two children from their friends and their school? Put them permanently on the run? Or try to stop it in the background?"

"You can dress this up as self-sacrifice all you like, Bass, but that man is not working on any authority and just because he happens to know some shit that might involve my brother doesn't make any of this right. What is he? A rogue analyst? Because his shake-down of me was way sub-par and if you'd seen it you would have laughed."

"You stop being a bitch about Jeremy! He's a good guy!"

"He kidnapped me!"

"He saved your nephew!"

"What, are you fucking married to him or something?"

"No, but we are dating, thank you very much!"

Bass hadn't really planned on yelling that aloud in the smoking area behind a hotel bar. It was... not the best way to come out, he supposes. But now it was out, and so was he.

"You... you what?"

"You heard me," Bass replies, hotly. "We're dating."

"But... you're not even into dudes?"

"Oh? I thought it was pretty clear I was at least a little into dudes. Even if you're not."

"What the fuck are you even on about?" Miles is backing away, now. Taking a step further from the guttering light from the door, into the carpark and towards the rows of empty vehicles bordered by glowering trees. Bass wonders why it's so horrible that Miles can't even stand to be near him.

"Oh grow the fuck up, Miles. I get that it was nothing. I get that it was a dumb, drunken fumble. But you didn't even have the decency to look me in the eye the next day. You just jumped out of bed and ran back to your brother. You could have just said 'sorry, it was a mistake, let's just be friends', but what did you do? You ran off. So yeah. Why the fuck would I want to stay around when you wouldn't even _talk to me_?"

"...the fuck did we even do?" Miles demands, hands out. "Jesus, Bass, I was off my gourd. I don't remember a thing about that night. I just woke up hungover as fuck and then I got a call from my brother who was worried his baby was going to die and how the hell are you going to hold things against me I don't even remember doing?"

"You don't even..." Bass reels, leaning back against the brick wall and feeling it all sort of... snap into place and hurt. "Fuck."

"No, Bass. I don't. So unless you enlighten me, being pissed off with me for not remembering is kind of a dick move."

Bass drags his hand over his mouth. It is suddenly dry like the desert, and his heart is pounding in his chest. "You... you... we talked and... shit. I can't do this. I'm sorry, Miles, I can't do this." He turns to run, but Miles grabs his wrist and for a moment he hovers.

He stares at Miles and he knows it's true. Knows this is the first Miles knows of or remembers what happened that night. Knows it wasn't him being a dick, it was him simply forgetting. But Bass can't forget his own disappointment or the feeling of rejection or the pain he'd suffered. It was too much to process on the liquor he'd consumed, and he needed some time away to think about it.

"Bass..."

"I'm... I'm sorry, Miles. I just... I can't."

He pulls his hand free and walks as fast as he can back to the room he'd picked for himself and Jeremy.

***

"Bass... Bass... what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Bass is pouring more drinks from the tiny little mini-bar bottles into a dishwasher-stained tumbler. He puts three in at a time.

"Something happened with Miles."

"Well, that's the understatement of the year," Bass barks back, chasing the comment down with a shot of whiskey. Or two.

"Is... did... does he have a problem with you coming back here?"

"I don't give a shit if he does."

"Well, you do, or you wouldn't be storming about the room like someone kicked your puppy."

"Dude, my family literally just died. Could you not?"

The minute the words are out, Bass realises he's snapped. Snapped at his... boyfriend. Who is being nothing but supportive. "Fuck," he says, and sinks onto the end of the bed, staring at the empty, ugly glass in his hand.

Jeremy walks closer and holds his hand out for the tumbler. Bass tries to ignore him. "I think you've had enough to drink, Bass. Come on. Give me the glass and... and we can talk about this?"

His first reaction is to refuse. To snap and demand more alcohol. To... shout or throw the glass against the wall... but the kind fingers around his make him relent and let go. The tumbler is put out of reach and Jeremy puts a hand on either side of his head, cradling it into his stomach. Bass breathes heavily, hands uselessly lying on his knees. 

"I love... I love him," Bass mumbles, and waits for the world to end. "I've always loved him. I don't... I don't even mean in... like _that_. He's just... Miles, you know? He was always there. We were always together. And the... the day before you rang..."

Jeremy moves, holding the back of his neck and pressing him in tighter, his right hand rubbing between his shoulderblades. "Something happened?"

"Sort of. I mean. Nothing major. It was... it was dumb fucking drunk talk and we fell asleep..." Shit, he shouldn't be admitting this to his lover, should he? "...fell asleep curled up together and I thought... I thought maybe it was something more than it was, and he just... he just blew it all off next day and I thought he was embarrassed, but it turns out he just didn't fucking remember and he didn't know why I ran away. Shit... I'm sorry man. I shouldn't be saying this..."

"It's okay, Bass. Honestly it is. I knew you two were close anyway... and I'm not jealous or angry. You love him, and that's fine. Love doesn't have to be about... well. Sex." 

"You... aren't jealous?"

"Would I be jealous if it was your sister you loved? Or if it was someone you loved but didn't find attractive? Bass... as long as you're honest with me, then no. I'm not jealous at all. Well. Unless you start cheating on me..."

Bass grabs the hand behind his head and pulls it until he can lay a kiss to the beat of his pulse. "I'm not. Jem... Jem I have... what... oh... fuck it." Bass surges up suddenly - sending Jeremy skittering back because there isn't much space between them. He grabs Jeremy by the face and kisses him hard and sloppily, tasting of cheap room drink and expensive bar drink and - holding on - he leans back until he over-balances and his weight sends them both back onto the bed. It fucking hurts his spine and his calves, but then Jeremy's crouched on top of him and Bass is still kissing him.

Jeremy's hands brace on the bed, and he pulls back from Bass' lips. Bass growls and tries to tug him back down, but Jeremy won't have it, shaking his head and resolutely keeping up.

"Jem!"

"Bass... it's okay."

"No..."

"You don't have to prove anything to me. You don't have to do this to convince me you care."

"I want to."

"You're drunk. And emotional."

"Doesn't mean I don't want you, or that I wouldn't want you in the morning." Bass knew the look on his face must be ugly with memories. 

"I know. But I'm not letting you do this to prove something. If we're doing it, it's because you want to. Not because you think I need you to."

Bass considers this, but it's hard to think through the hurt and the heavy feeling of alcohol clouding his judgement. "...I need you to. I need to know... you want me. I need to know it's going to be okay. I need... you, Jem. I need you."

Jeremy bends closer, and Bass can smell the hunger on his partner. Can see in his eyes that although he's saying this is fine, although he's saying it's okay, that he's just as worried as Bass is. And that simply will not do.

He brings his hands up to wrap one arm over his shoulders and keep him in tight, and he presses his lips to Jeremy's cheek. For once, Jem hasn't shaved and his six o'clock shadow is rough against his softer lips, but Bass finds he quite likes it. He needs it. He needs grounding, now. Needs Jeremy's solid weight bearing him down. He's hot and _there_ and _alive_. His right hand pushes through the short, neat hair, following the lines of his scalp below. 

"I... love you, you know," Bass says, his eyes closed so he doesn't have to see if Jeremy doesn't like that. The man goes stiff above him, and Bass wonders if there's anything else he can fuck up today?

As he tries to squirm further into the bed and away, Jeremy suddenly takes hold of his face and turns it, waiting until Bass opens his eyes and looks back at him.

"I know, Bass. I've known for a while. I love you too."

Bass smiles and pulls him in harder, laughing into his ear. "All it took was losing my whole family, and my idiotic best friend to make me see it, I guess."

"Well, at least you saw it." Jeremy tugged and Bass let him roll them both onto their sides - arms and legs tangling together. "I think tonight we should just sleep. In the morning - when you've slept this off - you can feel free to wake me and ravish me senseless. But you don't have to. I love you just as much like this."

That hurts in all the right ways. "Okay," he agrees. "I'm probably too drunk anyway." Bass curls in against him, clumsy and still dressed. He doesn't have the energy to strip.

"You're a good boyfriend, Jem," Bass insists. "Like. The best."

"I'm the only boyfriend you've had," Jeremy argues.

"I know. But I've been a shitty one myself often enough to know the difference."

"Go to sleep, Bass."

"Okay."

He can't - to begin with - but eventually the hands and legs around him stroke him slowly into peace.

***


End file.
